The Truth Behind All Truths
by Execrable
Summary: Edward Elric is a man in his early twenties, who lives with his wife, Winry, and his son, Maes. Although he decided to dedicate his whole life to his family, it turns out he is incapable of abandoning his alchemical research. His priorities often collide and he only hardly manages to keep them in balance. Yet, he is still blind to what his new discovery shall bring about...
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: This is my first fan-fiction ever. Please, _don't_ be tolerant. A constructive, logically supported critique is what I will appreciate most. Despite that, Part 2 is coming whether you like the story or not. Ehm, that was supposed to be a joke. **

* * *

**Part 1**

* * *

 _It is the year 1921. Edward Elric is a passionate man in the prime of life, who strives to be the father and husband which his wife, Winry, and his one-and-a-half-year old son, Maes, deserve. In spite of his sincere, unfeigned attempts, he wishes not to forlese his alchemical research since alchemy forms and has unmistakably always formed an irreplaceable part of his life. Both his worlds often collide one with another, making it hard for him to keep them in equilibrium; his scales' beam truly is a fragile one. Though he managed to find happiness and purpose in the world around him, he is not aware in the slightest that his discoveries shall bring about a collapse of the very base of his priceless scales._

* * *

"The dinner's on the table, Ed," he could hear Winry shout to him from the threshold of the kitchen door.

"Gimme a break, Winry! You know I've got a book to finish. You're just irritating me on purpose. It's the fourth time you called me because of a meal you don't even have prepared. You ain't just looking for excuses to start another conversation with my ignorance of the family affairs being the main topic, right? I've spent an entire day with you and Maes. Where the hell's the problem?! Now, lemme finish. It's an important research, dammit!" Ed shouted back in response. Yet, he'd already known before he finished his statement that it should backfire greatly.

"An important research, my ass!" Winry let out a reproachful shriek. "And Maes and I are not important to you, anymore? Eh? Then, why don't you just pack your divinely holy books and get out of the house, alchemy freak?!"

"For starters, it's _my_ house. So, don't you order me around, mechanic freak!" yelled Edward, feeling his blood scalding in his veins.

"For finishers, it's _our_ house. You forgot we were _married_ , eh? Or doesn't your _almighty_ alchemy have a term for that? Hey, now, I've got an idea. Why don't we just forget about all this? You can pretend I never existed and go on living while drawing your nonsense on any piece of paper you can find!" Winry fired back even more loudly.

"At least it's got _something_ to do with science. Not just silly putting a screw next to another!"

"Don't get too cocky, Edward Elric! Guess you've forgotten thanks to _what_ you can still walk! Maybe I should cool your head a little!"

While Edward was thinking up his next volley of direct insults to Winry, she – her face reddened with anger – returned to the kitchen, grabbed a vase that used to lie on a windowsill, spilled all the flowers – flowers given to her by Ed – out of it and onto the floor, not forgetting to trample on them until she was satisfied with the level of devastation, filled the vase again with fresh cold water and towards Ed's room she sped.

When she reached his door, Ed opened his mouth to pour a glassful of oil on the flames, but before he let out a single word, he'd been successfully quieted by sudden inrush of cold water onto his face. Not a second too soon did he overcome the shock just to dodge a rapidly flying vase which missed his forehead by inches and shattered to shards, having landed on the wall behind him.

Winry slammed the door shut with such force that she ripped off the handle. She clenched her fists, trembling with anger, cried: "Damn you, Edward!" and pushed the handle back to its place – yet again with uncontrolled force – strongly enough to dislodge the one on Ed's side as well.

Edward did not need much time to recover from the argument as he was already used to having these with Winry every so often. When he looked around at the disarray their fiery quarrel caused, he found to his horror that not only his face, clothes and half of the couch he was sitting at, but also his precious book, were soaked. He covered the temples on either side of his head in frustration and screamed, somehow unwillingly: "Now, look what you've done, crazy woman! Can you imagine how much time and effort it took to get one of these?!"

There lied other insults on the edge of his tongue – like 'Can't you learn to control yourself, already?' or 'Who do you think you are?' – but he successfully swallowed them. He wished to provoke his wife no more imagining her getting insane and throwing every small to medium-sized object in the house at him. He also started to feel a little remorse for what he had said.

Suddenly, something peculiar on the book caught his sight, having flushed all his other thoughts away. The inner side of the back cover began to slowly decompose uncovering an ancient painting which was skillfully glued underneath. The sheet of paper decomposed itself completely, not having left a single trace of its former existence. 'There's no way this was done with anything but alchemy,' Edward thought. He stood up, advanced to the door and blocked it as well as he could with surrounding furniture – he could not lock it since the handle was broken, just in case Winry wanted to make sure she would come out as a victor of their unfinished verbal match. Then, he slowly sat back on the dry part of the couch and began examining the painting.

It reflected a considerably large wooden room with a round table in its middle and thirteen chairs around. The room was very simply designed – everything painted dark brown; no decorations, whatsoever; only four torches enlightened one of its walls. Midst each pair there was a shape carved deep in the wood. Edward looked at each one of them thoroughly. His pupils abruptly narrowed and his irises widened. "No way," he whispered to himself, "It can't be."

His eyes now mirrored both terror and delight. He rushed to the door kicking the furniture that crossed his way and smashing the door open. Winry – bewildered, yet, still angry – yelled: "What the hell's gotten into you?!" as Ed was running upstairs to the bedroom. He ignored her completely, picked up the phone handle and dialed Al's number just upon entering the room.

"C'mon Al, pick it up! Al! Hey, Al! Answer the goddamn phone already!" he kept saying to himself while nervously tapping his automail foot and hitting his thigh with his free hand.

"Hello. Alphonse Elric on the phone. Who is it?"

"Al!" Edward cried so loudly that Al had to distance his ear from the phone.

"It's you, big bro? Don't shout! I can hear you well."

"Yeah, sure, sure." Edward replied unconsciously not lowering the volume of his voice by a single decibel. "Hey, you remember how we talked about how it's weird that there's no alchemy in Drachma?" he continued, but spoke so quickly that Al could hardly understand every third word.

Still, he somehow guessed the meaning and answered: "Yeah, what about it? You found something?"

"Something?" he let out a laugh of incredibility, "This is huge, man." Ed could not speak anymore as he started panting with utter excitement.

"C'mon, now, big bro. Calm down. Take it easy. I don't get what you're saying when you're in such a rush." Al advised him, partly to prevent his eardrum from exploding.

Ed did his best to cool his head and start thinking clearly. He dropped the handle on the bed and tried breathing slowly. He succeeded to a limited extent and after a short while he went on: "Well, I'm back."

"You okay, now?" Al asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess."

"Go ahead, then. What did you uncover?"

"Well, after our little discussion about the Drachma thing, I still believed that if there are no traces of alchemy now, there must have been there in the past at least. So, I had Mustang bring me some historical documents and translate them from ancient Drachman." Edward explained.

"Why didn't you look for them in the library?" inquired Alphonse.

"I could've, but I wanted as much material as I could get, and some of the books were army classified. I guess they contained some data of strategic value," Ed replied.

"And Mustang gave them to you just like that?" said Al teasingly, a little smirk formed on his face.

"Well, I still haven't lost my State Alchemist qualification and he knows the army still owes me something for the homunculi incident, although he doesn't say it aloud. Also, he made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone."

Al let out a short laugh at Ed's statement. "Why are you telling me, then?"

"Eh… You don't count as _anyone_ , you know. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Besides… besides…" Edward blushed a little trying to justify his unjustifiable actions.

Al laughed again, quite more loudly this time.

Ed interrupted him in the middle: "Forget about it. Let me get to the point."

"Hmm," mumbled Al and nodded.

"I've just finished reading a book on 'Brotherhood of Creation', I think it was, when Winry splashed water on to my face." Ed could hear Al laughing again. He went on, pretending he had not noticed: "And then, when the book was all soaked through, a sheet of paper on the inner side of the back cover completely disappeared. I'm sure it was alchemically programmed to decompose when subjected to water."

"How can you be so sure? Perhaps it was just old," said Al quite critically, but his voice was filled with curiosity.

"No, it sure _was_ alchemy. It just disappeared completely, as though it was converted to air," Ed argued.

"How could _that_ be possible, brother? You can't just transmute paper into air. Are you really sure about what you're saying here?" Al began to rightfully doubt his brother's statement.

"I don't know, that's why I need to investigate this further. But, never mind that for now. There is something else in the book. Something far more unbelievable." Ed continued.

"Really? What is it?" asked Al again, his excitement gradually rising.

"Glued on the cover, there is a really super-old painting of a room, might be some meeting room or something, and there is a shape carved in a wall." Edward fell suddenly silent so as to set his brother ablaze from eagerness.

"What shape? C'mon, what shape?" inquired Al, not being able to hide his emotions anymore.

"A transmutation circle," Ed revealed the piece of information calmly.

"A transmutation circle? _A transmutation circle?!_ Are you sure, bro?" said Al loudly, not quite wanting to believe it, yet.

"Yeah." Edward switched to a more serious tone now, much to Al's inconvenience. "And not just any transmutation circle. A _philosopher's stone_ transmutation circle."

Both sides reverberated with silence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: I apologize if this chapter lacks pace or hasn't contributed much to the plot. I felt I needed to present to you, readers, some little changes the main characters have undergone since their last appearance in the manga. They will become crucial as the story progresses.**

* * *

 **Part 2**

* * *

 _After having a harsh argument with his wife, Winry, Edward made a severe discovery. The neighboring country of Drachma, which everyone believed had no connections to alchemical science whatsoever, now seemed not to only have such, but also to have discovered disciplines that were altogether unbeknown to Amestrian alchemists up until a mere century ago. Delighted and horrified by his revelation Edward called his brother, Alphonse, who currently resides in the country of Xing, to share the news with him. Nevertheless, Edward is not yet aware of how impactful a single phone call can be to him._

* * *

"What do you mean by philosopher's stone transmutation circle, big brother?" asked Al after a few long moments of absolute silence.

" _Exactly_ what you hear, Al," Ed replied adding more serenity to his voice, but not cutting its severity in any way. "It looks precisely like the one I saw in the 5th laboratory."

Another long silence filled both Ed's and Al's rooms. Al believed his brother's judgement completely, yet, he still could not absorb such absurd – or so considered until then – piece of information. 'What does this all mean?' he asked himself. Does this mean that Drachma has been conducting alchemical experiments on humans, just as Amestrian army used to, for as long as – or even longer – this book has existed? It was certainly elder than any alchemy related research documents Ed and he have seen so far. He knew his brother had dug deep into Drachma's history to find some clues to why the country did not develop alchemy at all. Some of the books he so hardly obtained were even written in glyphs, they were more than 2000 years old. He did not wish to know the true age of this particular book so as not to feel too anxious about the whole matter. But, perhaps this was all just coincidence. According to what his brother said about the 5th laboratory – he never actually got inside so he cannot know – the transmutation circle was drawn using only circles and pentagons, shapes that were known to mankind for eons. Yet, what if it was true? What was he to do know? Or more importantly, what was his brother to do? He had a family. Al suddenly realized how torn apart his brother must feel. He knew very well he needed to investigate the matter, he was just like this. His instincts and emotions took over when he found out people – just about any people – might be in danger and rushed to help. Nonetheless, he could barely imagine how heartbroken he must be, imagining leaving his family again when he had returned just a few days ago. Why could not he, Alphonse, uncover such important and possibly dangerous fact? He could easily commence a research without letting his brother know, at least until he would learn more. He could help his brother live a merry and easy life for a little longer. Of course, Mei would miss him, but that is not even close to having a wife and a child who need Ed at home.

Al thought this over and over in his head, but he did not reach any conclusion which would eventually help his brother; had he thought it over thousand more times he would not have found a solution, either way – he weened. These was just the situations which Ed's stubborn – abundantly selfless and caring, also highly curious – personality led him to. Al was angry with himself, angry that he could not help his brother when he needed him. 'He protected me, lived for me, gave me back my body and yet I can't do anything for him now,' Al spoke to himself. But, he will try, he will not let his brother do something he would then regret for the rest of his life. With this resolve in mind he ultimately dared to break the silence.

"What're you gonna do now, brother?" he asked Ed, not being able – or perhaps not wanting to – hide his concern.

Ed, realizing that his excitement over the discovery was somehow flushed away by all those hurtful predictions he had as well as Al did, lowered his head and silently, sadly watched the floor of the bedroom as if he expected it to give him a clue.

When Ed did not respond, Al knew his dear sibling was stressed about this whole matter just as he foresaw he would be. Back then, he thought a straightforward approach would be the most appropriate. This idea, though, was hardly one of his best. He asked a question that sounded almost like an order. "You ain't gonna leave your family again, are you, brother? They…" he suddenly stopped. His heart was all aching now. He overheard Ed's loud sobs, although his brother tried to hide them from him having laid the phone handle on the bed. He realized he had overdone it. He forgot how sensitive Ed actually was. On their journey, Ed tried his best not to break under the heavy weight of his intense feelings. He would do so for Al, he was his elder brother, he was there to emotionally support him, to keep him going straight ahead, to prevent him from losing hope, to ensure he does not show a single sign of hesitation before him, whatsoever. Natheless, now that Ed, in spite of his habitual travels, started a family and settled down to some degree, he softened up, he was not the hero anymore, he willingly freed himself of the heavy burden of being the elder brother and protector. He let Al see his emotions, his hesitation, his concerns. He did so consciously, but was still rather ashamed of it, it was still kind of extraordinary for him to show his weak spots to his brother.

Al felt strong regret at the moment. He should not have said it, he just _ought not_ to have said it. He should not have pushed his brother to the corner so carelessly. 'You're useless, Al.' he said to himself. 'No, you're not useless, you're fucking harmful. You should give him support, you moron, not drive him into an emotional breakdown. You're a piece of crap,' he continued blaming himself for his brother's reaction. He was aware of Ed's confusion and uncertainty. Edward was bewildered and frustrated, because he fought an inner battle which he could not win. His mind, telling him to stay at home, to leave the matter be, to _finally_ give his boy a true dad, clashed harshly against his instincts, which were telling him to go, to uncover the truth, to help those who may be suffering.

Ed was ashamed of himself, of his sensitivity. 'I always managed to remain strong,' he started reproaching himself, 'Why is it, that my emotions take over so quickly now? Why can't I just control them like before? I'm a mess.' His face started to redden with anger, anger with himself. But, before his anger had a chance to slowly transform into deep depression or frustration, Al said something that ultimately encouraged Ed to get a hold of himself, to decide.

"Hey, brother, you still there?" Al asked softly, but unwaveringly.

Ed slowly grabbed the handle and pressed it to his ear. "Yeah, Al, I'm here," he replied, his voice still shaking.

Then Al smiled widely and having carefully chosen his words this time, he said caringly and decisively: "Knowing you, brother, whichever decision you make, it'll turn out to be the right one. Just listen to your heart, Fullmetal Alchemist." And he hung up.

Ed's eyes widened and he began staring fixedly at the phone handle. Al's words resonated in his head – 'Just listen to your heart…' He was on the verge of crying again, his eyes were sparkling with tears, but he managed to cast them out. He already knew what he must do. This was the right time to fight, to face the reality – there was no way he could leave this affair unresolved. Yet, there was another challenge lying right in front of him – he must tell Winry, he must explain himself. How he was going to accomplish that, he had no idea at the moment. It seemed, though, the heavens were in his favor just like many times in the past. When he turned around to descend the stairs, there she stood, there stood his wife, her left hand on the hip, her right hand clutching a wrench, her face reproachful, emitting an unambiguous message – 'Tell me you ain't serious, or else see what happens next!' Ed realized she must have overheard a good lot of their dialogue. But, it did not look like any real difference to him, he was about to face her, either way.

"So, you're leaving again, huh?" she straightly asked, her voice was calm, but her hand was warningly shaking the wrench.

Ed was aware that there was no point whatsoever in not saying it frankly. "Yes… Yes, I am," he answered indifferently, since he could not possibly determine which tone would be convenient. He successfully avoided eye contact, but intensely observed her limbs, preparing his self for being as beaten as ever.

Instead, Winry just let out a loud snort as a sign of relinquishment and mumbled: "Geez, do what you want." She then turned around to head back downstairs.

Ed knew this was not enough. He could not leave like that. He would never be able to look at her eyes again if he left like this. He ran after her and before she could realize what had happened, he stood on the stairs one step below her, kissing her deeply. At first, she remained frozen. After a short while with Ed's lips still passionately pressed to hers she dropped her wrench, wrapped her arms around her husband and began kissing back. They were kissing one another for what seemed like hours.

Their romantic moment was abruptly interrupted by Maes' crying. They both promptly ran towards his bed, trying to gently hush their child. Ed tried tickling him all around his belly forcing him to start crying even louder and got scolded by Winry. Winry then made dinner for the two of them and they dug in. They desperately tried to behave as they normally would, but the knowledge of this dinner being their last one for what might be a long time, was naturally imprisoning. After having put their child to sleep, the two of them made their way to the bedroom.

They made love that night. They wanted to enjoy their last moments as much as they could. One would say this made it only harder for Edward to leave. Normally, spending delightful, lovely time with his family would prevent him from leaving, but this one time, it was different. Winry realized she would hurt him irreparably if she forced him to stay. She knew the risks of marrying a man with personality like Edward's, but she did not fully accept them, until now. Despite all this, she still strongly wanted him to stay, however, she decided, for once in her life, to give up. Edward also realized completely what Winry was going through and he was unspeakably glad she did understand his reasons, his urge. He still strongly wanted to stay with her, however, he decided, for once in his life, to be selfish. Their shared those moments, knowing what the other knows, and that was what gave Edward the greatest amount of strength he could ever be given, the strength to come back no matter what, the strength to make it up to his family, to correct the past so soon as his journey was over.

With his determination fully restored, Ed woke up early the next morn, wishing to inform Brig. Gen. Mustang about his discoveries as fast as he could. He barely caught the first morning train and set off for Central. There he sped towards the military headquarters, entered the building waving his silver pocket watch so that the military personnel let him through without unnecessary questions. As soon as he reached Mustang's office, he smashed the door open, much to Mustang's and Hawkeye's shock, ran towards his desk laying the book on it with such force as if he wanted to break the desk in half, opened it to reveal the painting and furiously placed his finger right above the transmutation circle.

Mustang – not quite realizing anything that had happened so far – began to speak: "What's this all about, Fullme…"

Before he could finish, Edward, still highly nervous, interrupted him, yelling: "Shut up and _watch_!" He gestured Roy's sight towards the place in the painting he previously indicated.

The moment Mustang determined the shape, his eyes widened to such extent they almost covered the upper part of his face and he burst out: "No way!"

He took quite a while to calm down. Edward, despite his nervousness, managed to remain patient. Mustang then continued: "How did you uncover this? The books were inspected about a thousand times."

When Ed recounted him what happened, together with his theories and deductions, Mustang rose his hand to his chin and began to contemplate. Then he spoke: "This is a severe matter, Fullmetal. The possibility of Drachman scientists conducting human experiments as well as their hiding their advances in alchemy are both to be thoroughly investigated. You return home now, I'm certain your family awaits you. We shall look into it." He gestured him towards the door.

Nevertheless, Edward rose from the couch he was sitting on for the last half an hour and said starkly, yet politely: "Brig. Gen., I came here today to inform you of my discoveries as well as to submit my request to be permitted to entry the country of Drachma as soon as circumstances allow to further the investigation."

Mustang did not quite believe what he heard, although he somehow surmised this situation might arise. He was not completely certain Edward is aware whereof he speaks. But, then he realized that he must have thought it over many times before he came to submit the request. Still wanting to alter his decision for Edward's good, though, he asked, as indifferently as he managed: "What about your family, Fullmetal? The mission is bound to be difficult, life-threatening and perhaps long-term."

Edward just lowered his head, refusing to relive the moments of yesterday. There was a long silence, but Ed would not respond. He had already been sure about his decision before he arrived and he would not let Mustang send him back down. He will not let him meddle in his family affairs. He opened his mouth to protest, but he was promptly silenced.

"Permission granted," said Mustang decisively.

"But, Brigadier General…" Hawkeye was ready to object, but Mustang made a gesture with his hand commanding her to stay quiet.

"If this is what he wants, let him have it," Mustang harshly explained his actions to Hawkeye.

"Yes, sir," she nodded and backed off.

Mustang hence stood up, cleared his throat and stated: "I, Brigadier General Roy Mustang, The Flame Alchemist, hereby assign you, Mr. Edward Elric, The Fullmetal Alchemist, to the mission of investigating The Drachman Federation's possible connections with alchemical research of any kind. The data regarding this mission I shall provide you with, just as the data regarding this mission you shall collect, together with the purpose and the very existence of this mission itself are considered classified army project. You shan't speak of it with anyone. Understood?"

"Understood," Edward confirmed.

"I have absolute belief in your professionality and abilities. Come back safe and sound." Mustang thus finished his statement.

"Yes, sir, so I shall."

They both saluted and smiled widely one at another.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: I am sorry, the adventure still hasn't begun. However, if you liked the story so far, be patient. The truly interesting part of it is yet to come.**

* * *

 **Part 3**

* * *

 _And so the Fullmetal Alchemist was getting ready to set off for the Drachma Federation. Disguised and_ _in possession_ _of counterfeited identity materials he now held the name of Balsunov Jaroslav Savelievich, a mere twenty-three years old countryman, born in the capital city of Irkutsk, but currently residing in a nearby village called Lesnoy. With every possible countermeasure taken in order to prevent his real identity from divulgence and with his determination yet again unbreakable Edward Elric was more than ready to undertake yet another trial in his life – or so he thought._

* * *

"Still getting ready, Fullmetal?" asked Mustang, while Ed was putting on a cold-proof suit, albeit unsuccessfully. He expected a harsh journey as he was to intrude into the country through the Briggs fortress. To his great annoyance he had no other option since it was the only part of Drachma which was snowy and hence hospitable for those who needed to pass through regular patrols. The suit served not only to keep him from freezing to the bone, but also as a camouflage in areas covered with snow, the reason for it to be wholly white. He knew very well he was going to need to wear it, but at the moment he had only one single thought in his mind – to figure out how to put that 'damn, stupid, uncomfortable, small (he still did not learn not to shiver when he heard that word), goofy, like-polar-bear's-shit-looking and overall uncool' suit on or else he was certain every object in the room would meet its end in a very near future.

Mustang stood aside ceaselessly watching Ed for a while – when he was making ineffable effort to fasten the suit – until he could not control himself any longer and let out a short, but noticeable chuckle, having pushed Ed's ability to hold back near its limits. Ed gave him a quick gaze, yet menacing enough to make Mustang step back and hold his hands in front of his chest so as to gesture he had meant no harm. Nevertheless, the moment Ed took his eyes off him and focused only and entirely on the suit again, he smiled wildly at his struggle and impatience, being happy and relieved that some things simply never change. It might sound odd, but this little incident strengthened his confidence in Ed, reassuring him that there was still a considerable amount of the stubborn kid he used to be in him, and, thus, he did not doubt anymore that he should come back alive and safe.

When Ed finally managed to dress, he took a look at himself in the mirror and tried to get used to his new face. He was given an artificial short brown beard, his hair was now also brown, short and coiled and he had a fresh-looking scar across his left cheek. He could not say he liked it, but he positively realized his visage was the last thing to worry about back then.

While he was still examining his exterior, the door to his provisional dressing room (actually a former refuse room) opened and in came a man in his early thirties wearing the same 'uncool' suit as Ed. Just after having seen Ed, he bowed and introduced himself: "Second Lieutenant Williams, sir. It is an honor to make your acquaintance, sir. It will be an even greater honor to be at your service, Mr. Fullmetal Alchemist, sir."

Ed was somehow bewildered with this meeting, so he leaned toward Mustang and demanded answers: "Hey, Brig. Gen., who the hell is this guy?"

"That's Second Lieutenant Williams, Fullmetal," Roy responded, joyfully imitating Cpt. Obvious.

"I know that myself, he just introduced himself, you know?" he said, imitating Mustang's imitation. When Mustang did not let out a single word, he slapped his back and said insistently: "Geez, quit being a smart ass and tell me what he's doing here." Then he noticed Williams had not abandoned his over-polite bowed position, so he addressed him awkwardly: "It's okay, you don't have to bow before me or anything, just relax, man."

Williams raised his head, but remained as rigid as a column. "It would be a highly inappropriate and inadequate behavior, sir. I will maintain this posture, should you not order me differently, with all respect, sir."

Ed felt really uncomfortable in William's presence, but he quickly turned his attention back to Mustang. "What the hell, man? Would you spit it out already?"

"He's an expert in Drachman affairs. He knows about their tactical strengths and weaknesses, political system and culture more than anyone. He has been our number one spy in the country for ten years and has established a number of priceless connections with its inhabitants and some men from lower government echelons. He has also studied its history and is well-versed. He'll be accompanying you on your journey." Mustang explained.

"What?!" Ed unintentionally let out a loud shriek. He always thought others would only slow his progress down and this occasion was no different. "Why didn't you tell me that?"

"I'm telling you now," Mustang provoked Ed once again.

"Whatever. I'm not having anyone slowing me down, Brig. Gen." Ed said aloud. He then turned to Williams and mumbled a hardly distinguishable 'No offense.' He sighed and made his way out of the room and to the corridor.

Mustang went after him instantly. When he caught up to him, he told him serenely: "His participation is a condition, Fullmetal. I'm not letting you go alone. Besides, I'm sure his knowledge and experience will come in handy."

"Forget it, man. I'll have enough trouble worrying about my own discretion. I don't need to worry about him, as well." Ed stated pretty arrogantly. But, what he was truly concerned about was not putting anyone else in danger because of his research, again.

"Gimme a break, Fullmetal. Haven't you learnt you can't do everything by yourself. You'll need some support in order to succeed." Mustang tried to persuade him, albeit with little or no success. Edward just let out a snort turning his head away.

"Enough!" Mustang cried suddenly, much to Ed's shock. He approached him in a very threatening manner, pointing at him with his index. "Years ago, you got upset when I treated you like a kid. And now that you're an adult, you truly behave like one. I wouldn't think I'd ever have this kind of conversation with you again, Fullmetal. Don't you see you've got no other option? Either you go with Williams or you don't go at all. You decide." Mustang told him off as though he were still a child and walked away rapidly.

This unexpected explosion left Edward speechless. He stood there, midst the corridor, and wondered if what Brig. Gen. said was really true. Did he behave like a child? Was it truly immature of him to try and do everything alone so that others did not have to face any danger? He cooled his head and thought it over. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if he went with Williams. His knowledge could be useful, after all. 'Yes, Mustang was right,' he finally admitted in his head. He stood there motionlessly for about twenty seconds and then he laughed. 'Damn you, Mustang, that's the last argument I've ever lost to you,' he ultimately promised to himself and sped back to the room to apologize to Williams.

He entered the so-called dressing room and Williams still stood there stiffly. It seemed to Edward as if he were awaiting his return. He did not even close the door and started speaking: "Hey, I'm sorry about earlier. It was stupid of me."

"I cannot accept your apology, with all respect, sir. Your objections against my participation were right on point. According to what I read my strategical abilities can hardly be matched with yours, sir." Williams stated indifferently.

"No, they weren't on point, Second Lieutenant. It's not strategical thinking that would help me in a country I've never visited before. I hope it's your presence and your knowledge that will prevent me from doing anything stupid again," Edward admitted truthfully. "I, therefore, _order_ you to accept my apology," he said in the end, grinning.

"As you wish, sir. I gratefully accept and am more than looking forward to a common journey." The two shook hands.

"All right. It's settled, then," remarked Ed and both of them went immediately to Mustang's office.

"What's your answer, then, Fullmetal?" inquired Mustang as soon as they entered.

"I'm going, Brig. Gen." Edward replied – his voice decisive.

"Good. We want to make this operation as smooth and secret as possible. You will travel to Briggs using typical transport so as not to cause any suspicions amongst the population. It's all settled with Major General, already. She will welcome you in the fortress" – Ed suddenly remember how welcoming she was the last time he went there – "and from that time on, you're on your own. Everything clear?"

"Clear, sir," both Ed and Williams answered simultaneously, much to Mustang's entertainment.

With those last words, the two of them left Mustang's office. They dressed commonly, hiding their suits under their clothes – Edward had a feeling that he would burn to a crisp if he were ever to be exposed to the sun with so many pieces of clothing on. They once again checked all parts of their plan that were expectable – these pretty much contained solely their journey to Briggs, since they had no idea what to foresee once Ed's research unfolds. Having given their farewell to Mustang and Hawkeye, they set forth.

The journey to Briggs was pretty uneventful and boring. Williams did not do anything Edward had not strictly ordered him to and Ed began to feel embarrassed since about the fiftieth time he had had to do so. He could not stop thinking about Winry and Maes. He did everything to distract himself, but his thoughts always went back to them. How were they doing? Could Winry ever forgive him for leaving or will they relationship suffer even after their reunion? He desperately wished for the former, but he thought the latter much more probable. His emotions were revving at full throttle again and he could feel like feelings of depression, anxiety, remorse and fear were coming to him like shadows, sneaking behind him, waiting for the right moment to take over. He fought hard to cast them off, but he was just barely victorious. He lost count of how many times he considered the idea of backing off, forfeiting the journey, coming back to Winry and Maes and living happily and peacefully with them again. Yet, he knew very well he could not. In all likelihood, there were people waiting for him, people he could save, lives that could be spared if he acted now. With those thoughts in mind, he managed to calm down a little. He then addressed Williams: "Second Lieutenant, you told me quite a few things about what we should expect in Drachma, and I'm grateful for that. Now tell me, please, what do you know about its history, don't even omit legends, they often have their significance."

"As you wish, sir," Williams obeyed.

"There are no historical documents, as far as I know, at least, regarding the very foundation of the country. From what we know, it had been founded long before Amestris and even Xing were. We approximate its age to roughly 3000 years."

"3000 years?!" El asked in disbelief.

"3000 years, sir. As I said, we cannot know what happened back then, but there is a religion-related legend, which many inhabitants believe, that the entire country was created by one man, in one instant. They call this man the 'Creator' and there existed many cults throughout the history that worshipped him as God."

Ed naturally did not take the legend too seriously. Yet, he was aware that he had seen many things which had appeared impossible to him before he actually saw them. Even though he was not willing to accept that one man could create an entire country in one instant, he still did not erase the possibility of the story being true, if less metaphorical and less exaggerated.

Williams noticed his superior's rightful doubts and continued as if he were trying to persuade Edward of its verisimilitude: "The fact remains, sir, that the country of Drachma has never yet expanded or shrunk its borders, at least so their historians claim."

Edward listened carefully and tried to see some connections among different facts that he had learnt so far. There did not seem to be any, but one idea crossed his mind. He did not hesitate for a moment and asked his adjacent companion: "Do you know whether Brotherhood of Creation was one of the cults you told me about earlier?"

"It sure was," Williams replied quickly and seemed rather surprised, although it was distinguishable from his voice solely. He never showed a single facial expression. "May I ask you, sir, how do you happen to know about them?"

"The book I found the painting in, it's about the Brotherhood of Creation," Ed explained. "Can you tell me more about the cult?"

"I'm afraid not much, sir. I just happened to have overheard a story about two cults that declared war to each other, supposedly a long time ago. If I recall correctly, their names were the Brotherhood of Creation and the Brotherhood of Preservation. I don't recall, though, what the reason for the war was. I'm quite certain it was either religious or ideological, but I'm afraid that's all I know, sir. My sincere apologies, sir."

Ed was lost in his thoughts again. He did not even notice Williams apologized to him. When he glimpsed his bowed figure, he realized he should have said something to him and murmured a 'Never mind, it's all right,' to him so as to prevent his comrade from remaining in that posture for the rest of the trek. He only managed to focus himself on his investigation for a couple of minutes and then his mind visited his family once more. His feelings began to slowly take control and all he was capable of doing was adding anger to them. 'Pull yourself together, moron,' he told himself. 'You can never discover anything if you can't even control your thoughts, dammit!' This time he even whispered the words and when he saw Williams had noticed, he waved his hand so that Williams minded his own business again.

He thought he was ready. He thought he was back to his old self. He thought he had washed his uncertainties away. He was wrong. One cannot bring back the past. He had to deal with the fact that he could no longer focus entirely on his goal. His feelings were far too powerful for him to cage them. He had to get used to having them. He had to accept them and absorb them. In moments like those he hated his sensitive nature. He thought, rather rightfully, that no hindrance he was about to face in Drachma would bind him as forcefully as the incessant inner battle he had to fight.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: There is finally some action here and there. More is on its way together with many riddles. I hope you like them, otherwise you will have a hard time reading the story.**

* * *

 **Part 4**

* * *

 _Edward Elric and Second Lieutenant Williams reached the Briggs fortress. With their eyes set on the horizon, where their destination lied – the vast and primeval country of Drachma, the pair of them accepted Major General Armstrong's 'warm' welcome and were preparing themselves for the remainder of their trek within the castle's walls. Edward contrived to suppress his feelings for the time being and focused only and solely for the mission that lied ahead. Natheless, there was no telling should they not arise again and corrupt his judgement in a pivotal moment._

* * *

"Long time no see, Fullmetal. The beard suits you just well," said a voice unknown to Williams, but more than well known to Edward. A tall man with brown-colored skin, white hair tied in a short spiky ponytail and round sunglasses set foot in their briefing room, just as they were discussing the alternatives of sojourn.

"Major Miles!" Ed greeted him having shaken his hand and grinned. "How have you been? How're things in Briggs? I had a chit-chat with the Major Gen., but you know better than I how _voluble_ she is."

Miles laughed at Ed's joke. "You got that right," he remarked. "Things are okay, as usual, I'd say. There have been no intrusions from Drachma or anything else going on. It's actually getting pretty boring here. I miss the old times, I guess," he informed Ed and both suddenly recalled the events of the Promised Day. When he realized from Ed's expression that his head was being filled with unpleasant memories, he swiftly changed the topic. "But, enough about me. I heard you're going to Drachma to do some research, is that right?"

"It sure is," confirmed Ed. "I can't tell you any details, though, it's top secret," he added truthfully.

"Too bad, huh. Just make sure you don't do anything reckless," Miles advised him. Ed simply nodded, smiled at Miles again and returned to discussing plans with Williams.

When they finished plotting, having taken in consideration each obstacle they could anticipate and prepared at least 20 distinct schemes, they headed to Armstrong's office.

"I still don't understand why Central sent a brat like you to Drachma. You were hardly of any use when you could still use your alchemy, even less so now," said Major Gen. indifferently as they followed her to an underground tunnel which – according to what she claimed – would led them directly to Drachma.

Edward conserved roughly a million remarks and excuses at the edge of his tongue, but decided to swallow them for his own sake.

Major Gen., quite surprised by his newly obtained self-control, closed her eyes for a moment, smiled narrowly and commented: "You seem to have learnt something, after all."

They descended what seemed like thousand pairs of stairs until they stood before a thick metal door, painted red. Armstrong took a set of keys from her chest pocket and began unlocking one lock after another. With every lock out of her way she turned a large wheel in the middle of the door and pulled, it slowly opened. Beyond it dwelled complete darkness. No matter how much Ed tried he could not see a single thing behind the massive door.

"What are you waiting for? Light your lanterns," Armstrong instructed them. They both did so immediately and directed the beams of light toward the tunnel. They saw a typical rock tunnel, with the only difference of there being deep cracks all over and large pieces of rock breaking off and falling down from the ceiling every so often. Edward carefully entered and jumped back just in time not to get smashed by a large boulder that plummeted right in front of him.

He turned to Armstrong – his face covered with sweat – and yelled at her: "No one told us about _that_!"

"Chickening out already? How do you expect to infiltrate a hostile country if you wet your pants over a pebble?" Armstrong shouted back at him.

Edward let out a growl, still peering at Armstrong. After a while, he had swungen about, then took a deep breath and ordered decisively: "Let's get this over with, Williams!"

"Yes, sir. At your heels, sir," Williams seconded and they stepped into the tunnel.

"Don't you dare divulge any sensitive information, Fullmetal. If you don't want to be cut to pieces, that is." With that last warning she shut the door after them. Edward gave her one last thought – 'She didn't change at all.'

The tunnel was even more unstable than they had thought beforehand. They walked slowly forward trying to step as gently as possible in order to prevent the very ceiling from collapsing upon them. Time to time a loud 'Watch out!' could be heard as one warned the other of a falling rock. The passage was longer than they had expected causing them to doubt whether or not they would be able to make it to Drachma before sunset. They could not decide what was better and less painful – to speed up and have their bones shattered by a rock or keep this pace and find themselves lost in a blizzard afterwards. After having cogitated for a minute without having come to a verdict, Ed finally commanded: "Let's go faster, we're getting closer to the surface, the tunnel must be more stable from here on." To prove it, he hit the floor with his automail leg a few times and to his relief nothing happened. They started walking rapidly, until they noticed a wide stream of light emerging from the ceiling.

"That must be it!" Edward shouted in excitement and relief.

"I suggest we put our ordinary clothes off, sir," said Williams.

"Yeah, you're right," replied Ed. Both took off their clothes and placed them in their backpacks until they were left with only cold-proof suits and goggles.

"I'm gonna throw you up," suggested Edward. "You'll then lend me a hand and pull me up, all right? I can jump higher thanks to my automail."

"Aye, sir." Williams nodded.

They did as Edward had said and in a matter of seconds they were up and outside of the tunnel. Edward tried to stand up to examine his surroundings, but Williams dragged him down promptly.

"What the hell, Williams?" Edward demanded the reason for his inferior's deed.

"We must keep a low profile, sir. There are bound to be military patrols everywhere. It would be best if we crawled now, sir," Williams explained himself.

"We don't have time for that," protested Ed, pointing at the sun, which was already cut in half by the horizon.

"We should be able to get to the nearest village. There is one to the east, about two kilometers away according to the map I acquired during my spy missions, sir," stated Williams.

"We would barely make it if we walked. Crawling is not an option here, Second Lt. Besides, the map is more than four years old. How do we know it's still there?" asked Edward in an irritated voice.

"We don't, sir," Second Lieutenant answered.

"That does it. We're going on foot," decided Edward and rose to his feet. To his shock, Williams stood up, too, and grasped his hand, making his advance impossible.

"Let go, Williams," said Edward still rather calmly, but he felt his level of adrenaline rising rapidly.

"I cannot comply, sir," protested Williams.

"I _order_ you to let go!" Edward now shouted.

"I cannot comply, I have orders from Brig. Gen. to ensure your safety, sir," he said, much to help intensify Ed's anger.

"I should've thought he didn't send you for your knowledge, but as a fucking babysitter!" Edward now yelled uncontrollably, his fists clenched and trembling. He gave Williams a threatening, bloodthirsty gaze, which was visible even through his goggles. " _Let go_ , I said!"

Williams refused to release Ed's arm, but was quite taken aback by his behavior. He never saw him so infuriated. He did not know how to handle this situation. He did not doubt that any word he would say should only worsen Ed's reaction. So he just stood there rigidly and tightened the grasp of his hand. The two did not move or speak for a short time. Ed was now completely red with rage – although Williams could not tell because of the suit – and continued to tremble, his eyes watching the snow at his feet, but not actually seeing it. Williams weened he had no other option but to break the silence, eventually.

"Brig. Gen. Mustang instructed me to stop you if I found it necessary. He was especially worried about your explosive behavior. Your current act only proves him right, sir," he said as daringly as never before.

However, Ed was too blinded and deafened by utter rage to notice. He suddenly stopped shaking and Williams assumed he had calmed down. His assumption was all but right, though. Edward started to speak, his head still turned away from his babysitter: "You can send him _this_ message!" he roared and hit Williams hard in his left cheek with his fist, much harder than Second Lieutenant would have expected. He almost flied away from Ed losing the grasp of his arm in the process. He came back to his senses just in time to raise his head and see Ed sprinting towards the supposed village. He instantly ran after him, his vision still blurred and his movements clumsy from the punch. He used Ed's disadvantage of his not being used to running in snow and of his automail leg slowing him down and caught up to him considerably quickly. When he got behind him, he jumped on Ed knocking him to the ground. The moment Ed turned to fight back Williams gave him a punch in return.

He then began yelling at him, much to Ed's confusion and disbelief: "What do you think you're doing? Are you trying to get us killed? There is like a gazillion of guards right in front of us! You can't just start sprinting right into them! Don't you value your life at all? Think about your family, you jerk!"

Edward was completely taken aback. He had never thought Williams could have exploded like that. 'Think about your family!' – he kept hearing those words in his head. How could not he have thought about them, about Winry and Maes? How could he have been ready to put himself in danger so easily without realizing what it would have meant for them had he died here? He felt miserable. He regretted not having Al by his side. He regretted not having his brother around to forestall his actions, to prevent him from going headfirst. But, then he became aware of something – he _did_ have someone by his side who would stop him, who had stopped him already. He was suddenly grateful, grateful to Williams for running after him, grateful to Mustang that he had given him a babysitter, no, a _protector_. But, why did he actually need one? Why did he always realize his mistake so late? Why did he always end up being enraged and acting stubbornly enraging those around him and forcing them into hasty countermeasures? When with Al, he did not quite comprehend how he truly behaved. He was so used to having him around he considered it natural to be watched over. But, it was not. He made a decision that day, a decision that he would _finally_ grow up, finally cage is anger, rage, fury, for the good of all around him.

"I'm sorry, Second Lieutenant. Can you please release me now?" he begged Williams – who was still seizing both his arms and was pushing his knees to Ed's thighs to make him immobile – politely.

Williams, despite not knowing Ed well, understood that his attack was over. He let go of Ed's limbs and lied on the ground right next to him. When he proved that Ed is truly serene again, he returned to his over-polite voice and formed an immediate apology: "I am ineffably sorry for my former behavior, sir. I shall prepare myself for the hardest of punishments, with all respect, sir."

"No, Williams. It's I who deserve a punishment," said Edward, more so to himself than to Williams. Williams wanted to protest, but in the last moment he decided not to. It was unnecessary to object, that was how things probably were with Edward, he thought. Instead, he thought he might try to ease the tension between them with some small talk. They were in the blizzard, after all. No one could possibly hear them talking, they barely heard each other. So long as they kept crawling, they could safely talk, he supposed.

"Nevertheless, I must acknowledge the fact, that your punch was truly something, with all respect, sir. It took me a considerable while to snap out of the shock." He tried flattering Ed a little so as to distract him.

"Heh…" Ed gave him a smirk, a smirk he could not have possibly sighted. "Lucky you, I don't have my automail, anymore," he said and let out a short laugh. He also heard Williams laugh for the first time during their journey, albeit a feigned one. He appreciated his endeavor. As they crawled there one adjacent to another, his thoughts reached Al once more. 'I've finally understood, Al,' he said to himself. 'I've finally understood that you gave me more than I could ever repay you. Years before you gave me a reason for living. I always thought I had been protecting you. I was wrong, Al. It was you who protected me on my journey to correct what I had screwed up. It was you who helped me stay loyal to the path I had chosen. And now, when you're not even here, you continue giving me support and placing milestones beside my road, the road I seem to abandon again and again. Al, you're a good person, better than I've ever been or will become. You deserved more than I could ever give you; I'm sorry, Al.'

Tears yet again filled Ed's eyes and poured down his face, but they were different from the last time. Those tears did not provoke misery or despair, they conveyed unwavering loyalty, comprehension and devotion. They did not blur his vision or shadow his mind, they made them as clear as ever.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: A little more action than in the last chapter. The riddles are still absent, I'm sorry. But, I assure you they _will_ come in the next chapter. I will also most likely slow down a little (I mean, not one day - one chapter, but perhaps two days - one chapter) so as to avoid unnecessary errors and having to re-write previous chapters. The story will be getting much more complicated and will develop on more than one place at a time. So, I beg you to stay patient. **

* * *

**Part 5**

* * *

 _Edward and Williams had successfully reached the nearest village merely a minute before the sun ended its voyage. Utterly exhausted and on the verge of burnout Edward made his way to a slum and upon entering he collapsed on the floor. Williams – who was more accustomed to those kind of treks – also went into the slum just to find Edward's immobile body. He moved him further away from the threshold, having turned him around he took his goggles off and freed his head from the suit. On one of the broken tables lied a broad piece of cloth. Williams grabbed it – not truly being aware of why – and used it as a blanket to cover Ed with. He was desperately looking for the reason of his deed. He did not find any. He just felt it had been the right thing to do. Ceaselessly observing Ed's peaceful breathing, he soon fell asleep as well._

* * *

Edward was awakened after a few hours by sharp beams of light coming through multiple holes in the roof and blinding him. 'The sun sure shines strongly here,' he thought. When he got up, he found to his astonishment that his goggles were gone. He instinctively pulled the blanket off himself and stood up. His head was full of thoughts about what exactly had happened last night before he had passed out. But, then he realized it – he slept under a blanket! His eyes incredulously travelled to Williams who was lying there, on the floor right next to the place where he was just a few seconds ago. He suddenly felt warmth filling his body – the feeling of gratitude. 'You kind-hearted jerk,' he whispered to himself. 'Just playing tough, aren't we?' He had the feeling he had to repay him somehow.

Yet, before he was given a time to think about it, he heard footsteps in the snow. 'The blizzard has subsided, the troops are most likely coming back to HQ,' he analyzed the situation precisely.

"Tough night, huh? I'm _really_ looking forward to a cup of coffee." He heard a soldier speaking.

"Hey, Williams, wake up," he whispered and shook his companion awake.

"What's the ma…" Williams was promptly quietened by Ed's palm covering his mouth.

Edward pressed his index to his lips and said as softly as his rather piercing voice allowed him to: "Shh, we're surrounded."

The two of them turned their heads in the same direction as they attentively listened to a voice not far away from them.

"Don't forget to search the slums! We ain't going anywhere till each of them is checked!" roared a deep husky voice and both of them looked at each other in horror.

"Geez, why do we have to do this every time?" they overheard as a nearby soldier was approaching their slum. Williams realized he had no other option but to act. He swiftly pushed Ed to the wall of the slum behind which he had supposed that no one was then. He took out a small knife and in what seemed like an instant carved a transmutation circle on the wall next to Ed. Blue rays of light emerged from it as Williams touched it with his hand and the wooden wall broke into pieces having left a hole just big enough for a person to get through. Edward could not believe what he had seen. Williams could use alchemy? However, he snapped out of the shock almost immediately as he saw Williams throwing their backpacks out and pulling him through the hole and next to himself. He then carved another circle into the frozen ground below their feet and said, calmly but determinedly: "Hold your breath, sir." Edward had done as he had been told right before another spark of blue light appeared and they were engulfed in the surrounding snow.

"Hey, what was that?" said one of the soldiers, having noticed the blue light.

"What?" inquired another.

"That light, you seen it?" he asked as he entered the slum.

"Heh? What light?"

"I saw a light coming from here and then a crack," he replied and was searching for something to prove his claim.

The other came in, too, and upon noticing the hole in the wall and a large heap of snow behind it, he seized his abundantly curious comrade's collar and dragging him out of the slum, commented: "That was just snow falling from the roof, idiot. Don't get always so damn excited. This whole patrolling business is boring enough even without you meddling into things."

Edward could not hold his breath any longer. He jumped out of the heap, fell to his knees and took a deep breath in. To his unspeakable relief there were no rifles pointing at him. He exhaled calmly and sat down just to see Williams break free.

The moment he sat down as well, Ed started a conversation: "That was incredible, man. I had no idea you could use alchemy."

"Just a little, sir," Second Lieutenant humbly responded.

Edward ignored his remark and continued: "And the speed you drew the circles with, I've never seen anything like that before."

"I had to learn to be swift for situations like these, sir," he explained.

"Well, that certainly _was_ swift. I didn't even notice what circle you'd drawn," Ed went on flattering him. There was no response from Williams, though. The two sat in the snow and breathed heavily for a while, until Ed decided to break the silence.

"But, why haven't you told me before?" he demanded.

"Brig. Gen. instructed me to, sir. Alchemy is a discipline which I wanted to avoid using in Drachma. If they knew they had an alchemist amongst them, they would take an immediate action to capture him and force information out of him, sir," Williams answered.

"That doesn't explain why you haven't told _me_. What did Mustang tell you?" Ed refused to cut the conversation without having received a satisfying answer.

"I will quote his words, if you will, sir. 'One more thing, don't tell Fullmetal about your alchemy. He might not look like it, but he's thinking all the time. Moreover, he's like intertwined with it. The moment he would find out, he would start scheming, including your alchemy in his calculations and order you to use it more and more frequently, as I know him. We definitely want to avoid that.' That's what he said. I didn't understand him back then, but I think I now know what he was talking about, with all respect, sir."

'That flame bastard, I guess he knows me pretty well,' thought Edward.

"I, therefore, have a request on you, sir. Do not order me to use alchemy, with all respect, sir," Williams added.

"Okay, I'll try," replied Edward to console him, but knowing that it should not be so easy for him to keep his word.

"Thank you, sir."

Edward just waved his hand in a 'Never mind,' manner.

"Well, what now?" he asked after a short time.

"I think we should follow them, sir," suggested Williams.

"Follow them?! We just got rid of them and you suggest we follow them?" Ed raised his voice in disbelief.

"Yes, sir. They can easily lead us to the headquarters without even noticing us. If we are at least a little careful, that is, sir," Williams tried to elucidate the situation. When he saw Edward's unchanging doubtful expression – he probably did not understand why they needed to go near the headquarters as it was no part of their plan – he added: "The headquarters is in Belorechensk, sir. There we can easily hire a car and set off for Irkutsk, just as we planned."

"Now I get it," Edward clapped his hands and smiled, "but that's the first piece of information you shouldda given, you dumb."

"Sorry, sir."

Ed laughed when he saw the overly apologetic look on his inferior's face. "Don't look at me like that. I was just teasing you," he said, still grinning, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Then he stood up and began clearing his face and hair from the rest of the snow.

Williams sat there for a little while and watched his back. He did not understand why Edward had suddenly been so friendly with him. Was it because of what he did for him yesterday? Was it an apology for his recent loss of self-control? Or was it just one of the states of his multilayered personality? He could not tell. He still did not know Edward enough. But, he was happy about their relationship getting stable – or at least about the idea of it possibly being true.

"C'mon, stop staring and let's go. We've got a battalion to follow," ordered Edward mildly – the friendly tone from before was still clearly distinguishable in his voice – while putting his goggles on, his head already inside the suit. Williams willingly complied with the order and having put his own goggles on, he threw Ed's backpack to him. It was soaked through and the idea of walking around the city looking like they had just escaped from a submarine made Ed sigh. Without further ado, the two began following the trail Drachman soldiers left behind.

On their way to Belorechensk, it was probably the best time they had ever had together. Their footsteps were accompanied by constant chit-chat about any topic they could think of, mostly alchemy, though. Edward was keen to know more about his relations to the science, about his reasons for studying it, etc. He even managed to make Williams laugh a few times having told him hilarious stories about his early life. Williams, to his own utter indignation, happened to omit his 'sir' every so often, always following such incident with a bow and an apology, which Ed countered with a teasing giggle. Second Lieutenant did not believe that his man next to him could be the famed Fullmetal Alchemist, the alchemical prodigy, the man who was said to have done the undoable, to have overcome the unovercomeable, the man he had read so much about and whom he had admired for a long time. He did not see this man anywhere. He saw a joyful, friendly and loyal companion, with whom he could talk, share ideas and experience. He seemed so… so 'normal'. 'That's the word – normal,' Williams thought. And he was ineffably grateful that Edward was not the man he had imagined him to be.

Williams' idea to pursuit the patrol seemed to have paid off. After several hours they eventually reached the city of Belorechensk. Henceforth, everything went according to plan. They managed to explore the city to some degree – it was not a large one – and, despite being looked at suspiciously for leaving trails of water wheresoever they went, having hired a car, they made their way to Irkutsk. They planned to visit Dr. Arseniy Yolkin, a historian and linguist, who resided in the northern part of the city. Dr. Yolkin was Williams' old friend and his teacher. It was him who apprised him roughly of the general aspect of the country, but, mainly, of its history. They would spend high amounts of time together and grew to completely trust each other. Dr. Yolkin was also the only one – as far as Williams could tell – who knew that he was an Amestrian. Williams thought it best to visit him first for he could not only help them significantly with their research, but also arrange an accommodation pretty easily.

The journey to Irkutsk was monotonous. Nothing special happened, a fact that each of them greatly appreciated. It took all night, much to Williams' irritation, because Edward informed him – just when Second Lieutenant wished to swap places after 8 hours of constant driving – with an apologetic smile that he did not yet have a license. Upon hearing the 'joyful' news, he let out a depressive sigh and looked forward to another four hours of driving. However, he was thankful that Ed fell asleep shortly before midnight, since his deafening snorts prevented any living thing from dozing off more than successfully.

It was about 2 AM when they reached Dr. Yolkin's residence. The moment they stopped, Ed woke up and stretched his arms with a loud 'Aaaah.' When he saw his private driver almost passed out, he gave him a gentle slap across the face to keep him conscious for a little longer.

Dr. Yolkin exited from the house so soon as he heard noises outside and hurried to the car. He was completely different than Ed had thought. He had imagined a small, possibly corpulent man with big round glasses and grey hair. Instead he laid his eyes on a tall, elegant man with short black hair and sparkling purple eyes, wearing a black suit which must have cost more than Ed's annual State Alchemist salary. He gently opened the door and remarked: "Oh, poor Williams. The long journey must have exhausted him considerably." Then he sighted Ed. "And you, you must Mr. Balsunov, aren't I mistaken?" he asked Ed politely.

'So he trusts him completely, but he still hasn't told him my true identity. Cautious guy, that Williams,' Ed thought. He shook Yolkin's hand and replied: "Yes, yes, that's me. May I ask how you know my name, Dr. Yolkin?"

"Oh, of course you may. I've been informed about your arrival beforehand, Mr. Balsunov. Second Lt. Williams called me on a private line about three days ago and requested I let you stay for a while," he explained.

Ed was confused and a bit disappointed, because Williams had not mentioned he had called anyone about their presence. 'Three days ago – he must have called from Briggs,' he deduced. Did Williams not trust him enough to share every bit of the plan with him or did he have another reason for leaving him uninformed? Ed knew he had to ask him to explain himself, but when he saw how tired Williams was, he decided to leave the matter be for the time being.

In the meantime, Dr. Yolkin let Williams wrap his arm around his neck and helped him to the mansion. It was the first time Ed actually took a good look around himself and beheld Yolkin's gigantic villa. It was not as huge as Armstrong's, he weened, but still extremely large. Yolkin gestured him in, but he stopped before the threshold and looked up. He could not even see the tip of the roof in the dark, but it was definitely high.

The moment he entered, two men in black suits – probably employees or servants – began sniffing at Ed's clothes. After a few seconds, they said simultaneously: "Excuse us, sir." Ed was bewildered and did not know what to expect. But, when they both took perfume flasks out of their pockets and started squirting high amounts of it at Ed, he got very upset. In a matter of instants, he lost control, seized one of the flasks and shattered it. Having clenched his fists, he aimed them at the servant who still held the undamaged one. Dr. Yolkin, who was already helping Williams ascend the stairs, swung around and said in the same polite voice as before: "Oh, boys, leave him alone. It's all right."

Both his servants addressed him back in unison: "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

Dr. Yolkin then turned his attention to Ed. "I beg your sincerest pardon, Mr. Balsunov."

"Whatever," answered Ed, still rather annoyed.

"Have a good night sleep, Mr. Balsunov. In the morning, we shall speak." And with that last sentence he led Williams to one of the rooms and closed the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: Ehm, I said I would slow down, now, didn't I? It's no use, I got addicted too much to the story. This chapter is rather a philosophical one, sorry about that. Anyways, enjoy, if possible.**

* * *

 **Part 6**

* * *

 _Edward changed his clothes and sat on a chair next to his bed. He could not sleep. He was wondering about Dr. Yolkin. He seemed to be a nice and hospitable gentleman on the outside, but those eyes… Edward knew the look in his eyes, he had seen it before, he just did not know where. Yet, he did know one thing. There was something wrong here, something in the air he could not describe or perceive, something that existed based on his intuition solely. As he sat there, his impression was getting stronger and stronger. He knew Dr. Yolkin did not leave Williams' room yet. What was he doing here for so long? He pressed his ear to the wall, trying to hear what they talked about in the adjacent room. It was no use; he did not hear a thing. After a short time, he gave up. He rose to his feet just to sit again, this time on his bed. He hit his right temple with his fist. 'You're being paranoid, Edward Elric,' he said to himself. 'There's nothing wrong here, they're just having a little chat, that's all, that's all, that's all… or… is it?'_

* * *

Williams lay on his bed, Yolkin had grabbed a chair and placed it next to Second Lt.'s head before he sat on it.

"What do you think? Is he the _one_?" he spoke.

"We'll find out soon enough, won't we?" replied Williams.

"Oh, yes, that we will. I just wanted to hear your opinion," Yolkin continued enquiring.

"I'm not sure. He's one of the types that listen to others, but once they make their decision, there is nothing one can do to alter it; it might turn out to be a problem."

Yolkin just smiled contentedly. "Anyway, good work. I'll be taking it from here, at least for the time being. Be sure to stick to the plan. We're starting tomorrow. Now, sleep," Yolkin advised him.

Williams just nodded. Yolkin stood up, returned the chair back to its former place and was gone.

Edward woke up early in the morn. He could not sleep well. The thoughts about Dr. Yolkin were still whirling furiously in his head. He was incapable of casting them off, no matter what kind of distraction he subjected himself to. Having ventured to the bathroom – he was unable to find it for not fewer than fifteen minutes, much to his exasperation – and having looked at himself in the mirror, he found out that he looked terrible. His eyes were murky and there were large dark circles under them. He had one of the local servants make him coffee and after drinking it in one gulp, he ordered another. He gazed at the cup for a few minutes and then decided to find Yolkin and Williams, taking his cup along.

They were already sitting in a kind of living room and drinking their own coffees when he came in. They both greeted him and gestured him to take a seat. He did so and soon the three of them sat around a large conference table, each on his own armchair. A piercing silence filled the room. To break it, Yolkin laid his cup back on a little plate on the table – perhaps a little too forcefully, as the sound of the two objects colliding resonated all over the room. Having pretended not to notice, he spoke: "So, I hear you're highly interested in Drachman history, especially in the legends that support it, am I right?"

"You are, doctor. I heard from Williams that there many cults who worshipped the so-called 'Creator', could you tell me more about them, please?" Edward asked politely, but yawned when he finished, unable to keep his mouth shut due to tiredness. He let out a short 'I'm sorry.', but Yolkin did not seem to have minded.

"I sure could. But, first, let me ask you a somehow _perplexing_ question. Can you tell me, Mr. Balsunov, what is the opposite of _creation_?" asked Yolkin, smiling victoriously and irritatingly.

"It's destruction, isn't it?" Ed replied indifferently, taking a sip of his coffee and having no doubt he had answered this right.

"Oh, no, Mr. Balsunov. You're quite mistaken here. Creation and destruction are both processes that go hand in hand with each other. Every creation is followed or caused by destruction and every destruction is followed or caused by creation," claimed Yolkin.

Edward first gave him a skeptical look, but after he had seen Yolkin was being absolutely serious, he raised his hand to his chin and started thinking. He very well could not, because of his serious lack of sleep. In spite of that, he understood the logic perfectly, but did not quite know what Yolkin was getting at, yet.

"Think of it this way, Mr. Balsunov." He grabbed a sheet of paper and got closer to the fireplace. "When I burn this paper, what is it? Creation or destruction?" he asked and threw the sheet in the quivering flames.

Edward observed him intensely. "Both," he answered after a moment.

"Exactly. Very exactly, Mr. Balsunov," commented Yolkin, seemingly delighted with his discussion partner's comprehension. "Both. When I burn the paper, I _destroy_ it, yet, I _create_ ashes, isn't that right, Mr. Balsunov?"

Ed did not move or say anything. However, an idea crossed his mind a while later. He raised a question to Dr. Yolkin: "It doesn't work with everything, though, does it? How about light, for example? What do you destroy to obtain _light_?"

"Oh, you're a perceptive one, Mr. Balsunov. That is truly _the_ question here; what do you destroy to obtain light? Hm... Do you know how _dark_ is defined, Mr. Balsunov?" Yolkin asked Ed, having pointed his index at him.

Ed shook his head. 'Come to think of it – light and dark aren't defined in alchemy as they are no real materials or substances,' he said to himself. He had the feeling he pushed himself to the corner.

" _Dark_ is defined as the absence of _light_ , dear Mr. Balsunov. Yet, it's not that simple, since _light_ can also be defined as the absence of _dark._ How is that possible, Mr. Balsunov? How can _an existence_ be defined as the absence of another existence which is also defined as the absence of the former?" Yolkin continued asking enigmatic questions. "Oh, but you seem to be getting a grasp of it, Mr. Balsunov. Let's go on, shall we?" he said, judging from Ed's facial expression.

Edward truly started to understand what Yolkin meant. He grew to enjoy the discussion. He wanted Yolkin to go on, so he nodded repeatedly.

"Very well, Mr. Balsunov. You asked: 'What do you destroy to obtain light?' The answer is simple, now, isn't it? To obtain light you have to destroy dark. And to obtain dark you have to destroy light. To create a presence, you must destroy an absence. And to create an absence, you must destroy a presence," claimed Yolkin.

Ed thought he truly understood his logic, now. He was never _actually_ interested in philosophy, but this idea was quite something – he weened. He then said, his voice firm: "So, you're saying that destruction and creation are the same process? That it is the same to create something as to destroy it?"

Dr. Yolkin smiled widely and shrugged his shoulders. "It was you who'd said it, dear Mr. Balsunov," he replied. He let go of the cup of coffee which he was holding the entire time and inclined toward Edward. "Let me ask you the same question, then. What is the _opposite_ of creation?"

Edward now understood completely. This logic was new to him, but he was known for accepting new concepts quickly.

"Preservation," he replied decisively. Yolkin clapped his hands and aimed them together with his gaze at the ceiling. "The opposite of creating or destroying, that is, altering an object is to keep it in its original state," Edward then added.

"Precisely, Mr. Balsunov," seconded Yolkin and triumphantly burrowed himself back into his armchair.

'Now, I get it,' Edward told his own mind. 'The Brotherhood of Creation and the Brotherhood of Preservation. So they truly oppose each other.'

"With this matter out of our way, Mr. Balsunov, did you happen to hear about the two first cults, we historians like to say 'principal', cults that were founded?" Yolkin asked Ed quite indifferently.

"Williams told me. They're the Brotherhood of Creation and the Brotherhood of Preservation, aren't they?" Ed responded.

"Oh, they very well are, dear Mr. Balsunov. These are the first cults that worshipped the Creator and claimed to follow his teachings," he continued.

"but each one interpreted it its own way, am I right?" Edward finished his sentence for him.

"Indubitably, Mr. Balsunov," seconded Yolkin and yet again smiled at Ed's fast comprehension. "The Brotherhood of Creation, as its names implies, believed that we should follow in footsteps of the Creator and… _create_ , that is, keep changing the world he gave birth to. The other one, though…"

"thought we should keep things as they were originally created and that the world he gave birth to can't be improved, anymore," Ed cut in again.

Yolkin nodded and pressed the cup of coffee to his lips, still smiling slightly.

Edward suddenly realized he got so absorbed by the discussion that he had completely forgotten the _real_ reason they visited Dr. Yolkin. He set his mind on his mission again and asked, as though he completely ignored the previous conversation: "Dr. Yolkin, would you happen to know what this room is?" He took out the book he had been hiding in his coat until then and showed the painting to Yolkin.

The moment he did so, Yolkin's eyes widened in utter surprise. "Oh, no way…" he raised his voice having seized the book immediately, "that is… that is _extraordinary_ , that is… that is _most peculiar_ , that is… that is _just wonderful_ ," he kept murmuring to himself while he examined the painting as closely as his eyes allowed him to. Then he froze for a moment, his sight suddenly fixed on the wall before him. A few seconds later, he closed the book, hid it under his arm and stormed out of the room. Before Williams or Edward could realize what had happened he was storming back toward them with a magnifying glass pressed to his eye, surveying the shapes in the painting.

"That, Mr. Balsunov, is the very meeting hall of the Brotherhood of Creation," he said, having calmed down a bit. "The shape right here" – he pointed at a shape composed of two triangles of the same size, turned 180° one from the another, each touching the center of the other's base with its vertex, and a geometrical representation of an eyeball right in the midst – "is the symbol of the Brotherhood," he added.

'It truly looks almost like alchemy,' Edward thought, 'but there is no circle, how could this work?' He started to contemplate, but then his eyes travelled to the philosopher's stone transmutation circle and he was promptly filled with anxiety. 'No, not again!' he barely held himself not to say it aloud as all the feelings he had so hardly suppressed began emerging once again – feelings, memories, images of people suffering and being transmuted into a philosopher's stone; images of his Winry, sitting on a chair and gazing out of the window, waiting for him to return, with Maes crying in her arms. He pressed his palms to his temples in frustration and tears began forming in the corners of his eyes. After what seemed like years to him, he was finally freed by Dr. Yolkin's voice.

"Oh, are you all right, Mr. Balsunov?" he asked him gently.

Edward, doing his uttermost best not to start crying, did not even look back at Yolkin, who was as close to him as good manners allowed, and mumbled a sharp 'Yeah, I'm fine,' with his hand still on his head.

Williams, who deduced what had happened, gestured Yolkin to step aside and told him: "I think it would be for the best if left the matter for now, doctor. He's having some sort of emotional seizure; I've already seen him like that. He'll be all right in due course. Besides, he seems not to have had much sleep this night, let him get some before progressing."

Yolkin simply nodded and let Williams help Ed back to his room. There he laid him on his bed, because Edward did not seem to be aware of his surroundings, yet. He left him alone, having closed the door behind him, just to hear Ed burst into an uncontrollable cry, much stronger than he had ever heard.

He then returned to Yolkin, who was intensely watching the flames dancing in the fireplace. He stood next to him and noticed a smile on his face.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked him, rather with pressure.

"Because he exceeded my expectations," Yolkin replied calmly.

"But, he's so unstable. Won't that be an issue?" Williams enquired.

"Oh, not at all, dear brother. It's his emotional nature that shall give him the strength when time comes," he explained.

Williams looked unsatisfied, nevertheless.

"Have you noticed?" Yolkin pointed at the flames, "The strongest flame is always the one which quivers the most."


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: O.K., I guess this is my idea of slowing down. From one chapter a day I switched to a two-chapters-a-day pace... There's not that much happening in this chapter, mainly scheming and some cheap jokes here and there.**

* * *

 **Part 7**

* * *

 _Edward woke up a few minutes after the noon. He had a feeling his head was going to crack open. Thoughts and images of his family yet again shadowed his mind entirely. He was angry with himself, angry he did not manage to maintain control during the morning conversation. The emotions of remorse, frustration and guilt arose and there was no stopping them now. 'I can't go on like this,' he thought. He was consumed by irresistible urge to find a way to contact Winry. He needed to talk to her, he needed to ask about their life, he needed to hear her scolding, her reproaches, her voice; yet, he knew he could not, no, he must not. Two weeks passed since their journey had begun, but they seemed like eons to Ed. Once again being controlled by his emotions rather than controlling them, Edward Elric was scared. For the first time in his life he was scared of the events that lied ahead of him, somewhere there, in the future._

* * *

He left his bed and made his way back to the living room, which he had forsaken four hours ago. There they sat, both Williams and Yolkin, and Ed had a strong feeling of déjà vu. Just as before, he was offered a seat and took it. This time, though, Williams spoke first: "Are you feeling better now, sir?" he asked Ed worriedly.

Ed could not say he really did, but wishing to abandon the matter of his health as quickly as possible, he nodded and assured them: "Yeah, don't worry about me; I'm fine."

"Oh, is that so? Well, then, let's tarry not and revive the discussion, shall we?" suggested Yolkin.

It was not that Edward actually wanted to, but the only other option was to give up, and that… that was not going to happen, he decided determinedly. Hence, he nodded in reply.

"Good. The last thing we discussed before your… your…" he coughed, "unexpected departure" – Edward was more than glad he did not say 'collapse' or else, in his current state, he was not sure whether he would not make Yolkin's face meet with the floor – "was the meeting room, aren't I mistaken, Mr. Balsunov?"

Ed nodded. "Would you happen to know where the room might be, Dr. Yolkin?" he asked directly.

"I definitely would. I actually have the most precise idea of where the hall is, Mr. Balsunov," he replied.

"But…?" said Ed, judging from Doctor's face that he has more to tell him.

"But, there are two, how should I put it…" He began rubbing his hairless chin and pretended to be thinking, "severe obstacles in our way, to say the least."

"And those are?" asked Ed, starting to get irritated by Yolkin's enigmatic and unclear approach.

"Those are, Mr. Balsunov, that the place is in an off-limits area and there are military patrols all over the place…"

"I can take care of that," Williams cut in.

Yolkin went on as if he had not heard Williams' comment.

"…and the hall is in ruins now," he ended his statement.

'Great, what now?!' thought Ed and he felt his blood beginning to boil, 'That was our only fucking clue, dammit!' He almost lost control again. The moment he realized it, he became angry. But, then he realized that as well. He realized that he was jumping from one emotional instability to another and did not know what to do. In moments like those, his mind always voyaged to Al. He imagined what he would have said to him had he been there, by his side. 'Pull yourself together, brother. You wouldda never become the Fullmetal Alchemist, the youngest state alchemist in history if you gave up so easily. There is always another way. Don't let it end here, big brother!' That is what Al would have said to him. He would have supported him, just as he always used to. He would have not let him surrender until he had depleted every single option he had, and perhaps not even then. 'When there is no door, I'll make one!' Now his own words resonated in his head. 'Awesome, now my younger self will start scolding me.' He laughed at his own thought and was quite proud of how quickly he managed to get back his serenity. Williams and Yolkin noticed.

"Is there anything hilarious, with all respect, sir?" asked Williams.

"No, nothing at all, Williams," replied Ed, still grinning. 'I'm back,' he thought. He started contemplating about the mission again. He was done pretty soon and switched his attention to Yolkin.

"Dr. Yolkin," he addressed him.

"Yes, Mr. Balsunov?" He wondered what Ed would ask him now and raised his eyebrow.

"Please, tell me _exactly_ which parts of the meeting hall have perdured," he demanded.

"Oh, why is that?"

"Just do it, please; I have an idea," explained Edward rather unclearly.

To his relief, Dr. Yolkin did not ask any questions and left for his library. In matter of minutes he was back with seven considerably thick books, all about the Brotherhood of Creation.

"Here," he said and pointed at the books. "These are all modern scientific books which focus on reconstructing what was left to us by the Brotherhood. I don't know all the specifics myself, but I'm certain you'll find your answer in there. You can borrow them for as long as you wish," he informed Ed.

"I'll have been done with them by evening," said Edward monotonously as though he were telling him the price of a sandwich.

Yolkin now raised both his eyebrows and his eyes widened in disbelief. However, when he saw Edward's finger following one line after another swiftly like a machine, he thought it best to leave him alone and not to ask any questions, though he had many. He gestured Williams toward the door and the two left the room together.

"We may actually find out sooner than we expected," he had said casually to Williams before they each went their own way.

Five hours passed and both of them returned to the room just as Edward was reading the very last pages of the seventh book. He finished those in a minute and turned around to greet them back. "That's what I call timing," he remarked as the two approached the table and sat on their typical armchairs.

"Have you found anything useful, Mr. Balsunov?" Yolkin asked him promptly.

"Yeah, quite a lot, actually. The books say that the hall was destroyed irreparably during a revolt about 400 years ago," he stated and cleared his throat.

"Oh, that certainly is true," seconded Yolkin "but how does it help?"

"Let me finish," Edward retorted. "Even though the hall itself can't be reconstructed, many of the items that were present there are now scattered over the city, in museums and other historical institutions. If we found those, we could at least get closer to how the hall actually used to look like," he stated.

"Oh, that might be true. But, let me ask a question, dear Mr. Balsunov. Why do _you_ need to reconstruct the hall?" he asked with a little smirk.

Edward expected this moment had to occur once, the moment when he could not hide the goal of their journey from Dr. Yolkin. He weened for a while that he could come up with an excuse, but he rejected the idea fairly swiftly. 'He's far too perceptive and smart for that,' Ed admitted. 'If he got suspicious, he could refuse to help us and force it out of us, anyway.' He looked at Williams to find out whether he agrees with revealing the piece of information to Dr. Yolkin. Williams slowly nodded. 'He's a cautious man,' Edward thought. 'If he trusts him enough to let him know…'

"The thing is, Dr. Yolkin," Ed coughed, "that we came here to conduct alchemical research."

"Alchemical?" asked Dr. Yolkin pretending not to know what Ed was talking about.

"Yes, alchemical," Ed assured him he had heard well the first time.

"Oh, but is alchemy not the science of substance transmutation practiced in Amestris? How could it possibly have…"

"It does have connections to the Brotherhood, Doctor," Ed cut in. "I have reasons to believe that the Brotherhood of Creation would practice alchemy in the past," he explained.

Yolkin seemed taken aback. He refused to believe that the country of Drachma had been related to alchemy in any way. He made him spit out a lot of sensitive information and Ed soon started to hope for an early end of the conversation. He even remembered Major Gen. Armstrong and her warning a few times. 'I can't go back or I'm dead,' he said to himself. The dialogue took many hours and when Dr. Yolkin finally asked his last question, Ed had the feeling he knew more about the mission than himself. Yolkin chose his questions carefully so as not to go too far, but to eventually make them tell him everything piece by piece. He was extremely well-versed in rhetoric. Ultimately, he learnt quite a lot. He knew Edward was an Amestrian, not his true name, though. He knew the history of how he had uncovered the painting, he knew about the philosopher's stone and about the circle for transmuting it, he also deduced that Ed himself was an alchemist. When he seemed to have organized all this information to the best of his abilities, he spoke: "This truly is a severe matter, Mr. Balsunov. I want to assure you that you have my full support."

Edward smiled. He did not expect this answer. Perhaps Dr. Yolkin was to be trusted after all.

"The possibility of the army, which is supposed to protect people, conducting such inhuman experiments is a matter I cannot possibly leave alone. It's my responsibility as a scientist and as a citizen of this country," he stated firmly.

Edward thought it was a strong cliché, but if it worked for Yolkin, he had no problem with it.

"I'll have collected all those perdured items by tomorrow noon at the very latest. I'll use all my connections to make it happen," he uttered enthusiastically.

Edward worked out a list of all items he could find a mention about in the books and handed it to Yolkin. He immediately started making phone calls one after another. Edward and Williams were already in their beds and they could still overhear a word or a phrase every so often. Edward noticed sentences that he would have never thought could come out of Yolkin's mouth. He laughed at 'I don't care, just wake that old geezer up!' or at his persuasive techniques, such as 'The time is relative, dear lady. One hour could also make all the time in the world, you know?'. For the last time before he fell asleep, he had realized how happy he was that his emotions were one more time under his control. With peaceful thoughts in his mind and even looking forward to what tomorrow should bring, he closed his eyes and slept.

When the morning came, he was abruptly awakened by recursive knocks at his door. "Mr. Balsunov? Mr. Balsunov?" He could hear Yolkin addressing him. He stretched his arms and legs and yawned loudly. "'s it?" he asked with his mouth still wide open.

"The items, Mr. Balsunov. I collected all of them," Yolkin informed him, eagerness clearly distinguishable in his voice.

Edward took a look at the alarm on his bedside table. It was only 8 AM. 'The guy surely knows how to make things happen,' he said to himself. Having changed his clothes, he stepped out of the room just to find the entrance hall filled with ancient objects including the round table, thirteen chairs, sixteen torches and countless decorations. He let his lower jaw hinge down in awe.

Williams also got up as he heard their voices. He opened the door of his room and, still wearing his nightgown, he asked sleepily: "What's the ma…" He suddenly stopped when he realized he was being watched by both his superior and Dr. Yolkin. He stood stiffly and saluted, apologizing: "I am unspeakably sorry for my inadequate outfit, sir. I beg your sincerest pardon, with all respect, sir." With his last 'sir' he hid himself in his room again and in two seconds he was back in the corridor with his uniform on.

"Whoa, that sure was _quick_ ," remarked Edward and laughed slightly. "Look what we've got here, Williams," he said and showed him the entrance hall.

Williams also opened his mouth in astonishment. "Sir, is that…?"

"Yes, it is. These are the objects from the meeting hall," Ed enlightened him.

Edward and Williams remained in the corridor for a short time and positively admired Yolkin's readiness. All three ventured together to the living room and once more stayed loyal to the unwritten seating chart. They did not lose a while and started scheming. It did not take them much time to come out with a plan. The three agreed that it should not be as difficult to get around the guards as they had previously imagined. Williams was supposed to use his acquaintances in the Drachman military – which were not many, but not few, either – to relocate a small number of soldiers from one area to another under false pretenses so as to allow Ed and Yolkin to sneak in. Ed was against Yolkin's participation in the operation at the start, but he was soon overwhelmed by objections from both Yolkin and Williams that should there be any texts or inscriptions, he would need someone to translate them. Furthermore, Yolkin demanded his presence under the threat of cancelling the operation, so Ed was ultimately left with no choice but to give up and allow him to take part. Yolkin, on the other hand, was worried what would happen if they, despite the relocation, met with resistance on their way to the hall. Williams, however, soon assured him that Ed's fighting abilities are admirable and that he should not have much problems taking down a few Drachman soldiers. With access issues out of the way, the only problem remaining was the transport of the furniture. Edward came up with a solution to that which Williams accepted under pressure solely. He was to transmute a random truck to a military food truck and pretend to be a mere supplier passing through the area. He would then make the truck crash close to the hall and deal with soldiers who would come to help. Having aided Ed and Yolkin in moving the furniture in, he would leave them there, running around the area and attracting nearby soldiers' attention to buy them more time for the investigation. Williams was against the idea at first – mainly because he would have to use alchemy again – but since he had not come with a better one, he was forced to cooperate.

In two hours they were done scheming and the plan was ready to take place.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: Riddles incoming! I do hope you enjoy them as much as I do. The story has progressed to the point where I have to write what happens on multiple places at once. Those jumps will always be indicated by a pair of horizontal lines and the location between them in italic. This one features some serious plot twists. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Part 8**

* * *

 _Williams did as he was told. He transmuted a simple truck, which Yolkin had bought, into an army food truck. As soon as they loaded it up, Edward and Yolkin made themselves comfortable, having hardly any space to breathe amongst all the furniture at the rear. Williams, having disguised himself as a Drachman soldier, took the wheel and off they went. Not long after, they arrived at the place. A large red cross erected in front of them reassuring them their goal was near. Williams' contacts in the military seemed to have kept their word perfectly. There were barely a few troops around. Williams counted just three. Edward and Yolkin silently swept out of the truck and set off for the hall. Second Lt. waited there for ten minutes – which was the agreed time – and, having started the engine, moved slowly forth. Their operation has begun._

* * *

Before long, Edward and Yolkin were awaiting Williams in the hall. They met with practically no resistance on their way there, save one soldier, whom Edward put gently to sleep. While they waited, Mr. Elric took a look around the place. Had he not known where he was, he would have never guessed _that_ was the room from the painting. It looked completely unalike. A good part of the ceiling was gone, just as the shapes on the wall were. One third of the floor was also made of artificial wood, so Edward deduced the hall must have been restored quite a few times. He hoped, though, that there was still enough left from the original structure for his plan to work. While still examining the interior, they heard a loud impact and both had turned their heads in the sound's direction before looking at each other with a 'That's Williams,' expression. They hurried toward him just to see him choking the last soldier out. They had hastily moved the furniture from the truck and to the hall before they wished good luck to Williams, who left them behind and began patrolling the area.

It took them several minutes to lay each object on its rightful place based on the painting. They repeatedly looked at it and at the hall to ensure they had it right. When they were done, Yolkin addressed Ed, who seemed to be concentrating deeply.

"Mr. Balsunov, would you mind _finally_ telling me why we're doing this?" he asked rather irksomely.

"If you had left a secret message for someone to find, wouldn't you have wanted them to eventually reach whatever you intended them to?" he answered his question raising another one.

"Oh, yes… I guess," Yolkin replied. "So, you are of the opinion that the painting is a message, Mr. Balsunov?" he asked Ed in return, quite skeptically.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think," he told Yolkin, his voice filled with self-confidence. "Now, please, let me concentrate."

Dr. Yolkin simply threw his hands up as a sign of relinquishment and continued to examine the place on his own.

'Three shapes,' Edward thought. 'The one on the right is a transmutation circle, the left one is the symbol of the Creator' – Yolkin told him so before, it was a simple dodecagon with an eye in its center – 'and between them, there is the symbol of the Brotherhood. There is a torch between either pair and one on either extreme,' he went on analyzing the painting. 'Just what are they trying to tell me? Just what this all mean?' He came closer to the wall in the real hall and started to touch and push against it as if he were checking its durability.

"Anything the matter, Mr. Balsunov?" asked Yolkin as he saw Ed prodding the wall seemingly aimlessly.

"Dr. Yolkin, was this part of the hall restored?" he queried.

"Why, it must have been, mustn't it? The figures are absent, after all," he answered, but feeling that he had said the obvious.

"That's what I thought, too, but, look," Edward led him closer to the wall and made him touch it as well. Yolkin gazed at him perplexingly. "Not only are the color, durability and material _exactly_ the same, but even the wood fibers are continual. Something this precise can't be done using alchemy, either, not to mention conventional restoration methods," he explicated.

"Oh, so you ween the shapes were never actually there, aren't I mistaken, Mr. Balsunov?"

"You definitely aren't. They _undoubtedly_ weren't," Ed replied, happy that he eventually found a clue to work with.

"Most peculiar. What does it mean, though, Mr. Balsunov?" Yolkin posed another question.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," Ed informed him a little sharply.

"Understood. Do your best, Mr. Balsunov." Yolkin brought the dialogue to an end so as to let Ed focus.

'The shapes are a message… the shapes are a message,' he kept repeating to himself. 'But what kind of message?' Suddenly, his attention switched to the torches. He took his eyes off the painting and peered at the wall. 'Is it _that_ simple?' He got an idea. 'Are we just to light them in the right order? If so, _which_ isthe right order?' he wondered, having examined the shapes again. 'The Creator, the origin of all, this one definitely comes first; then the Brotherhood which follows in his footsteps; then the philosopher's stone created by them. But, what about those other two torches, the one before the Creator and after the stone? If there's nothing before the Creator and nothing after the stone, what does that mean?' He thought for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then, his eyes unexpectedly widened in incredulity and dread. "Does that mean the process is cyclical?!" he cried aloud.

"What process, Mr. Balsunov?" Yolkin asked instantly, taken aback by Ed's unanticipated reaction.

Ed ignored him. "The Creator brought about the existence of the Brotherhood. The Brotherhood brings about the existence of the philosopher's stone. And… and the stone will bring about the existence of the Creator?!" he whispered, not being able to keep his thoughts inside his head. "No, it can't be," he said as if he tried to console his own self. "Even if the Creator had truly existed, he died, he died long time ago. One cannot bring back the dead, not even with the philosopher's stone. That's impossible. That's just impossible." He did not know why, but he was not sure anymore that it was true. He was not given enough time to finish the idea, though.

Both Yolkin and Ed turned their heads at once. A loud gunfire could be heard not far away from them.

"That must be the Second Lt.!" said Yolkin nervously. "Please, Mr. Balsunov, we have little time. It's either now or never. Do whatever you think it takes to decrypt the message."

Ed realized _that_ was the time to control himself, to clear his head of all unnecessary thoughts.

"Pass me your matches, Dr. Yolkin," Ed ordered. The moment Yolkin understood what Ed was about to do, he complied with his order and throw his box of matches to him.

'Okay, this one first,' Ed thought and lit the torch between the symbol of the Creator and the Brotherhood. He promptly ignited another match and lit the torch between the Brotherhood and the transmutation circle, too. 'And now what?' Ed did not know how to go on.

The sound of the gunfire was getting closer and they heard soldiers shouting.

"Quickly, Mr. Balsunov!" Yolkin cried.

Ed started to panic. 'Which one now? If I light the wrong one, we might never be able to enter the hall again.' "Dammit!" he screamed. "Damn you, Edward Elric, focus!" He was not aware that he should not reveal his true identity at the moment. His head was too occupied with the riddle. 'Just what comes first? What? The end of a circle or its beginning? What comes first?!' His thoughts whirled furiously in his mind. Then, suddenly, he arrived at the solution. His eyes sparkled with excitement and a wide smile formed on his face. He ignited one match and having thrown the box back to Yolkin, he commanded: "Light the torch!" and pointed at the one to the left of the symbol representing the Creator.

Yolkin quickly understood what Ed had thought. He lit the torch so that flames emerged from both torches at the same time.

Ed then shouted another order at him: "Now blow it out!"

"What?!" Yolkin retorted.

"Just do it!" Edward repeated his order.

Doctor shook his head in disapproval, or maybe incomprehension, but decided to have confidence in Ed.

Both exhaled deeply and blew the two extreme torches out.

'There's no beginning or end of a circle. They're everywhere and nowhere at the same time,' Ed said to himself, proud of his deduction.

He solved the riddle. The very moment flames were quenched in both torches, a shape appeared on the round table emitting blue light and sparks, just as transmutation circles did when activated. Edward rushed toward the table to identify the shape, but he was late. The blue light disappeared and there were no signs of the shape anymore. All that was left were two gaps carved in the wooden table in the shape of human palms. Edward did not hesitate for a single moment and put his palms in the gaps. To his astonishment, they fitted in perfectly as though they had been made for him.

The ground underneath their feet began to quake. Cracks started to form all over the walls and the ceiling was on the verge of collapsing upon them. One of the columns that supported the roof broke in half and made the roof bend inwards considerably.

Dr. Yolkin, who was already scared to death, grabbed Ed's sleeve and tried to pull him away and out of the hall. "We must leave; the building is going to collapse!" he shouted at him.

Nevertheless, Edward did not give an inch. Something was wrong here, he weened. This was not supposed to be happening. He solved the riddle, did he not? Where did he make a mistake? Images of people crying and writhing in pain while being transmuted into a philosopher's stone shaded his mind instantly. He could not abandon them. He got so close to uncovering something important, he knew it. There was no way he would let it slip away. He decided he had to save those people, or die trying. With this resolve in his mind he freed his hand from Dr. Yolkin's grasp and shouted back at him, his eyes glittering with tears: "I ain't going anywhere! There's no way I could!"

Yet, before Dr. Yolkin got his chance to protest a large portal had opened beneath them and they fell down, together with the table and the chairs.

Edward groaned in pain after he had landed on an even, hard surface. He turned his head up, just to see the last narrow beam of light disappearing before the portal closed completely. They were in complete darkness now.

"Yolkin! Hey, Yolkin!" Edward tried to reassure himself that his companion is nearby.

"Yes, Mr. Balsunov?" he answered from somewhere behind Ed, groaning as well.

"You all right?" Ed asked rather indifferently.

"I think the falling table broke my leg, Mr. Balsunov," he replied in the same indifferent voice, as though he did not even mind. "Where are we?" he asked then, somehow expecting Edward would know more than he did.

"In some room under the hall, it seems," was Ed's response.

Yolkin let out a snort meaning 'Yeah, like that wasn't obvious,' which Ed barely noticed.

Edward stood up carefully in order to try to find an exit. However, when he rose to his feet, the rather small rectangular room got immediately enlightened by four torches on either of the longer walls which had lit themselves automatically as if by magic. Ed did not care too much about that at the time and quickly reached Yolkin and rescued him from under the table. He opened his mouth to ask whether the leg hurt, but was silenced by a sharp electric sound coming from behind him. He swung about promptly and there he sighted another blue glowing shape, probably similar or identical to the first one, he could not tell, because he had had not enough time to inspect it before. That was not the case now, though, he thought. He was approaching it step by step, but was once more denied by a phenomenon which he could not possibly believe. A vertical stone desk began forming itself right before him out of mere air, releasing sparks all over. Edward took a step back. He thought he had been dreaming. He tried rubbing his eyes, slapping his own face, jabbing in his thigh, but nothing seemed to have woken him up. Even after the desk had been formed and the shape had stopped glowing he just stood there, frozen. Thoughts of multiple kinds moved back and forth in his brain. He was unconsciously whispering to himself: "That's impossible. What about an equivalent exchange? You can't create something out of nothing. Just what is happening here?" He then began wondering if he had not been given some drugs. Having put his clothes off he searched for a sign of injection.

Yolkin was bewilderedly watching his comrade's actions, which objectively seemed insane, but dared not to let out a sound so as not to make the situation more instable. He instead took a closer look at the desk, which had a text engraved on it. He recognized the letter at once. It was written in Phoenician alphabet – an alphabet which had been brought to Drachma about two millennia ago and used for at least seven centuries since then. Trying to ignore Ed's seizure-like behavior, he got down to translating.

* * *

 _West Drachma, an oubliette deep underground_

* * *

In the very center of an oubliette, there lied engraved the symbol of the Brotherhood of Creation enclosed in a double circle which was again enclosed in the lower triangle of an hourglass shape. Between the inner and the outer circle, a text was inscribed:

 _Sun shall inflame the living,_

 _ocean shall swallow the land,_

 _as one shall arise, seeking_

 _what sacred to human hand._

The symbol began glowing purple, lighting thirteen torches in the room. Twelve of them lied in a row on one wall, while the thirteenth midst the opposite. They illuminated vertically positioned coffins pressed to the wall right beneath each torch. A loud impact reverberated around the room as each coffin was smashed open and its lid had fallen on the ground. Now the light of the torches irradiated thirteen piles of ashes of decomposed human bodies.

The circle began to move up the hourglass shape as if it were the sand pouring up instead of down.

The ashes started to twirl and emitting purple sparks as they recomposed back into skeletons.

The circle was now right in the middle of the hourglass. As it moved up, all the skeletons were engulfed in newly formed flesh. When it reached the very tip, all bodies – now perfectly restored – were covered with a black cloak and a hood. The symbol ceased to glow. All the figures inhaled deeply and loudly at once and each slowly stepped out of its rightful coffin. Before long, the one who stood before the other twelve took a step forward and spoke in a deep, husky voice: "The Brotherhood of Preservation has made their move. The time to act is nigh, brethren."

"Yes, Prior." The twelve revived voices responded in unison.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: This part of the story and a few that are about to come might seem rather 'far-fetched'. But, don't worry. I'd had the whole story planned before I even started writing. That said, everything has its explanation compliant with the rules of the Fullmetal Alchemist universe. You just have to wait for it a little while.**

* * *

 **Part 9**

* * *

 _Edward and Yolkin discovered a secret room under the meeting hall of the Brotherhood of Creation. Yet, ominous things started to happen. A stone desk – with text inscribed on it in Phoenician alphabet – materialized before them out of nowhere. Edward could not believe what he had seen. For a long moment he thought his senses had betrayed him. Meanwhile, in an underground oubliette in Western Drachma, thirteen mysterious men seemingly came back to live. Just what does their arrival mean?_

* * *

 _Western Drachma, military headquarters_

* * *

Thirteen men in black cloaks, wearing hoods, were passing through corridors in Drachman military headquarters. They marched in 4 rows with their leader at the fore. Their steps were fleet and purposeful. All military personnel just stood aside and watched; they did not dare interfere. Everyone felt as though their souls were bound by fear, by fear of the unknown. Even with bodies and faces hidden, their very presence radiated an aura of dread and respect, but above all, of incomparable experience.

The purpose of their intrusion was made clear the instant they entered the office of Colonel General Strelkov, the man in charge of the headquarters and the entire region of Western Drachma. Upon laying his eyes on the intruders he hinged his jaw to speak, however, he was immediately immobilized by the same menacing aura as the rest of the personnel. He sat there, observing as the Prior slowly, but firmly approached his desk. They had gazed at one another without saying a single word or producing a single movement, before the mysterious man raised his right hand from under his cloak to the level of his chest and aimed his palm at the Col. Gen. On the palm, there appeared the purple glowing mark of the Brotherhood of Creation and before Strelkov had realized what had happened he had two crossed, cold, metal swords pressed to the skin on his neck. They were held by two human resembling statues made from shining silver metal, which had erected from the stone floor on either side of his chair. The figures were incredibly precise; every line, every curve looked precisely like those of a regular thirty-year-old man. Even their facial attributes, eyes, eyebrows, wrinkles, everything was perfect. It seemed impossible to have created such statues at all, not to mention in merely two seconds.

The four soldiers that guarded the Col. Gen. overcame the feeling of pressure when they saw their superior being attacked. All of them swiftly brought their hands near their hips to grab their pistols, they did not survive long enough to pull them out of the holsters, though. A statue made from the same metal with the same precision was transmuted from the ground right in front of each soldier. With blades in place of their forearms, having spread their arms, they decapitated all four simultaneously. Then they froze at their places. Col. Gen., not being allowed to move his head, only heard as the bodies and heads of his soldiers plummeted to the floor.

"Where is the emperor?" the leader asked, his voice calm, yet strong.

"Em… Emper… or?" Col. Gen. stuttered, sweat pouring down his face.

"Where is the emperor?" he repeated in absolutely the same voice.

"There… there is no emp…" Col. Gen. tried to explain, but his dialogue partner cut in.

"Where is the emperor?" he asked for the third time, yet again his voice remained unchanged.

"I don't…"

Before Col. Gen. could finish, the adjacent statues moved their arms and cut through his throat. His head fell on the desk and his corpse collapsed upon the floor.

All the statues transmuted back into the floor and the Prior lowered his hand. He went around the desk and stood before the window behind it. Without a single movement he bent it outwards and he walked out of the building through it. A stair was transmuted underneath his foot just a millisecond before he would have had nothing to step on but the air. All thirteen descended and left the area, having given no sign as to where they were headed. The stairs decomposed promptly behind them.

* * *

 _Northern Drachma, Irkutsk, the secret room underneath the Brotherhood of Creation meeting hall_

* * *

'I'm not dreaming, this is reality,' Edward's mind spoke. He was still utterly confused, but at least he reassured himself he had been fully conscious. He used to be pretty sure his knowledge of alchemy had always been close to being incomparable. This could not have been said back then. He felt like a complete novice, like the little kid that had opened an alchemy book for the very first time. Incredulity and frustration were clashing savagely in his head. On one hand he thought that his little knowledge had not permitted him to understand the phenomenon, on the other, he was looking for a trick behind it. Someone was trifling with him, he started to believe he had been fooled. But, still, his eyes could not have failed him completely, the desk undoubtedly materialized there, there in front of him, _out of pure nothingness_. Countless hypotheses were burning inside him, stabbing like thousands of needles. 'Could there be a version of alchemy I know nothing about? No, that's not it. Even if it _was_ a different alchemy, it couldn't just ignore the laws completely, that's impossible. Or… is it? What am I to do now? I was sent here, because I'm supposed to be an expert in alchemy, but what can I do if I don't even know what's going on? How am I to help those people? How am I to stop this if I don't understand anything. Why am I always so useless when it comes to important things? Why does there always arise a problem I don't have any idea how to solve? Just like it was with Nina…' He felt just as miserable as the day Nina had been killed. He knew there were people suffering, dying, but there was nothing he could do. All he could do was to watch, to watch inhuman, devilish acts happen again and again, having no way to stop them. He suddenly remembered what Mustang had said to him before his departure. 'Haven't you learnt you can't do anything by yourself. You'll need some support in order to succeed.' But, who was to solve this if not him? Who could understand _this_? The only ones who knew more about alchemy than him were Hohenheim and his teacher… teacher. 'Wait… teacher! That's right, teacher might possibly have a clue about what this means. That's right, I need to contact teacher.' Ed ultimately made up his mind. He used all his brainpower to stop thinking about what he saw and to start concentrating on his trial, the riddle that was given to him, right there, on the desk.

He turned his head to Yolkin and raised a question: "Dr. Yolkin, can you read this?" pointing at the letters on the desk.

"Oh, that I can, Mr. Balsunov," he replied proudly. "In fact, I'm already halfway done with the transcription to modern alphabet," he added.

Ed's face was brightened with a wide smile. 'I'll puzzle this out,' he swore to himself and clenched his fists in resolve. He then sat on the ground, his legs crossed, and patiently watched Dr. Yolkin work.

Not even five minutes later did Dr. Yolkin raise his head and uttered: "Done, Mr. Balsunov."

"Wow, awesome," remarked Ed. Yolkin just smiled. "What does it say then?" he inquired.

"Well, Phoenician alphabet is hard to decode as it doesn't have vocals, only consonants. It's up to the reader to deduce the actual word," he explained, but Ed looked at him perplexingly.

Yolkin let out a short giggle, but the moment he realized he had, he pretended to cough. "Ehm," he cleared his throat, "I just want to say that the transcription mightn't be absolutely precise as several words are written the same way in this alphabet."

"Okay, okay, I got it," Ed commented impatiently. "Just read me what you decoded."

"It's actually a poem, it says:

 _Be welcome, stranger, thou who found'st this place,_

 _within these mures lieth untold secret mine;_

 _be welcome, stranger, but enumbre thy face,_

 _for what blessing to corse, to mind but a dwine._

 _Be welcome, chosen, thou who earned'st the grace,_

 _thou, who spurned'st thy cumber, thy very spine;_

 _be welcome, chosen, but do forswear thy craze,_

 _with those who desire dare thou not intertwine._

 _Come forth, stranger, dauntless, confront thy trial,_

 _withstand thy thirst, thy spirit mereless and broad,_

 _adight thy thowts, lest truth lose to denial._

 _Come forth, darer, draw thy sword, rotten and flawed,_

 _may rust become gleam, verdict a mistrial;_

 _come forth, darer, thy sword drawn, gainsay the God."_

Edward repeated those words in his head over and over. 'If I'm to solve this, I must be systematic. One verse after another. The first two are pretty clear;' he thought, 'it's just a greeting and a message that there's something hidden here. I already knew that. Then the other two… hide your face, huh? What does that mean? Hide your face, because what's good for the body is bad for the mind. That again contradicts what I was taught. Teacher always said: "To train the mind, train the body first." However, this philosophy is different. I must learn to think differently. I must learn to adapt. Wait… adapt? Does the verse mean that? That I have to adapt? That I have to solve this not as individual with principles and values, but as someone whose values and principles changes depending on the situation? Does it say that? To hide my face, to stop being myself. Yeah, I think that's it.' He smiled softly. 'Now – what's good for the body is bad for the mind. I mustn't think about body and mind as they're defined in alchemy. This time, mind is not what connects the body and the soul, it's surely just a metaphor. This poem isn't scientific, it's highly figurative.' Ed was tapping his chin. 'The body and the mind… They might represent the duality between the external and the internal world, for example. No, that's not it. The body represents what was given to us without us knowing – our physical attributes, our predispositions, our instincts, our emotions. And the mind represents what we gained ourselves – our memories, our opinions, our knowledge, our logic. Yeah, that's surely it. Now it makes sense. Hide your face – adapt, don't let your instincts and emotions get in the way of your logic, because they corrupt the mind. Yes, that's what it says. But,' he sighed loudly, 'it's hell easier to say than to do.'

Dr. Yolkin noticed Ed's sigh and asked, rather worriedly: "Is anything the matter, Mr. Balsunov?"

"No, it's nothing," came the immediate stereotypical answer.

"We have little time, remember," he remarked.

'That's right,' thought Ed. 'While we're trapped in here, Williams is dealing with Drachman soldiers.' His mind travelled to him instantly. 'Is he okay? Wasn't he caught, or worse, killed?' Feelings of uncertainty and fear filled his being in a blink of an eye. He stood up and clenched his fists and teeth. 'That's exactly what the poem says, you moron. Just control yourself, for God's sake. Williams will be fine, he's capable,' he managed to partly convince himself and stubbornly sat back on the ground. 'Good, one strophe out of the way, three remaining.'

'Yet again a greeting to me, who earned the grace. What grace? I don't think I've ever made anything to make the God forgive me,' he admitted to himself. 'What kind of grace is it talking about? Perhaps the second verse will make it clearer – you, who got rid of your burden, your very spine. My burden? My spine? God, who the hell is supposed to decoded this shit?!' Although he had to make an ineffable effort not to shout, he promptly got down to thinking again. 'My burden? Could it mean my instincts and emotions again? No, that's impossible. I didn't get rid of them. That wouldn't make any sense. My burden… my burden…' An idea suddenly flied through his brain. His eyes widened and he began to tremble slightly. 'No, it can't be… it can't mean my alchemy, can it? No, don't be ridiculous, Ed. Just how could some poem know you forfeited your alchemy? Like hell it could… but… my burden, my very spine… it makes sense. No, no, no, it's just a coincidence… is it?' He did not know what to think. How could the poem talk about his loss of alchemy? That seemed impossible, if… if it was not meant for him and for him solely. He felt as if he was a part of some conspiracy again, just like before, when Father was using him. But, he had to acknowledge that this was the only explanation that made sense. 'The grace – the privilege to bring Alphonse back in exchange for my alchemy. My burden – alchemy _did_ become my burden, after all. I said it to the Truth as well. That I relied on it too much. That I thought I could solve anything with it. That's right. My very spine… spine is a metaphor for support, the most important part of human skeleton. Yes, my very spine – alchemy was what supported me my entire life, what gave me my mother's praises, what gave me hope when she died, what allowed me to survive, what allowed me to bring Alphonse back. Yes, the poem _does_ talk about my alchemy, about my burden and my support at once.' He reached the conclusion, but he still did not force himself to believe it completely, all seemed so absurd. Nonetheless, he knew he had to go on decoding. 'Now, _forswear thy craze_ – abandon your desire, what you want right now. And don't group with those who desire. _Finally_ , a part that seems pretty clear,' he exhaled in relief. 'So, it says that I have to forget about what I want right now and plan thoroughly instead. Again, easier said than done, eh. But, I do think that's it,' he persuaded himself.

"Yosh, halfway done," he said happily and gave a thumbs up to his companion.

Yolkin just smiled and nodded encouragingly.

'Confront my trial, huh?' He started analyzing the third strophe. 'Withstand my thirst, order my thoughts… This one seems pretty easy, too. Having regard to what it said until now, it encourages me to advance while keeping my desire under control in order to have my mind open. Wait, but what desire does it talk about? The desire to solve this, the desire to help, what desire? It can mean desire in general, I guess. Sigh, this is getting harder and harder to put into practice. How am I supposed to suppress my desire to help to solve this, when the same desire is the reason why I'm solving it?! No, pull yourself together, Ed. Don't start thinking about nonsense once more. If this is what it says, then be it. I'll deal with it somehow. Now, what's left is to order my thoughts so that truth doesn't lose to denial. Truth doesn't lose to denial… What? This one is meant for me again? Does the denial mean my refusal to believe what had happened before? Yeah, that'll be it.' He found it harder and harder to concentrate on the poem. Thoughts about his being the center of another conspiracy and perhaps even playing into the hands of the ones who're using him at the moment incessantly troubled him. He was now 90 % sure the poem was meant for him solely. But, this even gave him more confidence that he would be able to solve it, eventually.

'The fourth one orders me to draw my sword, rusty and damaged. Well, the sword surely is a metaphor for any kind of weapon or ability that can be used aggressively. My sword… my sword… just what do they mean by my sword? My resolve? My intellect? Just what?'

They heard a sound of gunfire coming right from above them. Dr. Yolkin hissed: "Make haste, Mr. Balsunov, it seems we just ran out of time. The hall will soon be full of soldiers. It's now or never."

Edward started to panic. He was nowhere close to decoding the message. He employed all his brain threads to uncover the message. 'My sword… my sword…' he whispered to himself countless times. 'I've got it – my sword, damaged and rusty – that's my alchemy again,' he did not pause to evaluate the piece of information this time. 'Good, good, now – let rust become gleam, verdict a mistrial. If the sword is a metaphor for my alchemy and the rust means I can't use it anymore, does gleam mean the exact opposite – that I could? Verdict become a mistrial… Is it trying to tell me that I have to use my alchemy again in order to solve the riddle? But, there's no way I could. I exchanged it for Alphonse. I can't get it back. That would be against the…' he was going to say 'rules', but then he realized that all past events since their entrance to the hall had not complied with any of the alchemical rules. 'Oppose the God… is that what I have to do? Is what the entire poem was trying to tell me. That by controlling my thoughts, my emotions, my desire I can oppose the God and get my alchemy back? Is that it?' He was close to let out a laugh of insanity. He knew he could not do what the poem wanted him to. He knew he was not capable enough. No human was, he thought. So, was that the end? Was surrendering his only option, _again_?

"Mr. Balsunov!" cried Yolkin as they heard vehicles passing by and loud footsteps coming from everywhere around them.

Edward, however, fell to his knees and tears poured down his cheeks. "I can't, Yolkin. I'm sorry, I can't solve this," he said, his voice reflecting complete submission.

Before Ed realized what had happened, he lied on the ground, feeling a dull pain in his left cheek. Yolkin had crawled to him and punched him in the face. He then shouted at him: "So, this is it?! This is the Fullmetal Alchemist?! The one who is famed for his amazing intellect and almost superhuman determination? Look at yourself, now! A miserable kid that can only cry and apologize, that's what you're now. This riddle is meant for you, isn't it? Aren't you obliged to help the suffering people if you're the only one who can solve it? And yet, here you are. Lying on the ground and sobbing, on the verge of mental collapse. Don't say sorry to me! But, I'd like to see how your apology will save the people who're being transmuted to the stone _right now_. You're the only one who can help them? Don't you get it? I resent you, Edward Elric!"

Edward looked at him in disbelief.

"You thought I wouldn't have figured that much? Who do you take me for?!" Yolkin kept shouting.

Edward's sorrow quickly converted into rage at Yolkin's words.

"I don't know how to save them; don't you understand?! You don't even know how much it hurts. My heart aches so much I can hardly speak! But, I simply can't do anything! I'm just a useless piece of trash, an insignificant, puny human? Don't _you_ get it?!" he retorted while his sobbing grew gradually louder.

"So, you will just accept their fate, is that it? You know very well you won't be able to live if you give up now. Or, will you accept your fate as well? Is this how you do things. You just go with the flow?! Isn't that what the poem you _can't_ solve is trying to tell you? To _gainsay_ the God? God has destined the people to die, so it means there's nothing we humans can do about it? Is that what you're saying?"

Edward suddenly froze. "That's it, that's it!" he screamed because he had realized something and a wide smile slowly brightened his reddened face. His eyes sparkled with tears again, yet, this time, with those of joy. "That's it Yolkin, you're a goddamn genius!" he cried. "I was so focused on the poem I missed what it was trying to tell me the entire time. It gave me instructions on how to do the impossible, how to oppose the God, the fate. But, I didn't realize that by following the instructions I only play into his hands, that I do things as I were ordered to, that I don't think up my own way as I always had in the past and, thus, I don't gainsay the fate at all. I will just oppose the God my own way!"

He turned his face to the desk and pointed threateningly at it. Then, he shouted at it as determinedly as ever: "Hey, God, I don't care whether you exist or not, but there were times when you helped me and there were times when you stood in my way! But, now the time has come for _me_ to meddle in your affairs! And I'll do so with my face uncovered and eyes aimed right at you. You want me to not deny things? To hell with that! I'll believe whatever I want! You want me to forget my desire? My desire to save people's lives? To forget the sole purpose why I'm challenging you right now? Fine, you can have it! It no longer is a desire or a wish. It's a prediction! I _will_ save those people, no matter what you do or say! And I'll do it my way! Now, get prepared 'cause here I come!"

Edward Elric closed his eyes in concentration, clapped his hands together and vigorously pushed his palms to the floor.

* * *

 **In case any of you are interested in reading the text in Phoenician alphabet, here it is. It's not perfect, of course, as Latin and Phoenician alphabets aren't exactly compatible, but it's the best I can do.**

 **It's possible you won't be able to view without Phoenician Unicode font installed. I'm not sure. Anyways:**

𐤁 𐤅𐤋𐤊𐤌 𐤎𐤕𐤓𐤍𐤂𐤓 𐤕𐤄 𐤅𐤄 𐤅𐤍𐤃𐤀𐤎𐤕 𐤕𐤄𐤎 𐤐𐤋𐤎𐤟

𐤅𐤕𐤄𐤍 𐤕𐤄𐤎 𐤌𐤓𐤎 𐤋𐤕𐤄 𐤍𐤕𐤋𐤃 𐤎𐤊𐤓𐤕 𐤌𐤍𐤟

𐤁 𐤅𐤋𐤊𐤌 𐤎𐤕𐤓𐤍𐤂𐤓 𐤁𐤕 𐤍𐤌𐤁𐤓 𐤕𐤄 𐤅𐤎𐤟

𐤅𐤓 𐤅𐤄𐤕 𐤁𐤋𐤎𐤎𐤍𐤂 𐤕 𐤊𐤓𐤎 𐤕 𐤌𐤍𐤃 𐤁𐤕 𐤀 𐤃𐤅𐤍𐤟

𐤁 𐤅𐤋𐤊𐤌 𐤔𐤎𐤍 𐤕𐤄 𐤅𐤄 𐤀𐤓𐤍𐤃𐤀𐤎𐤕 𐤕𐤄 𐤂𐤓𐤎𐤟

𐤕𐤄 𐤅𐤄 𐤎𐤐𐤓𐤍𐤃𐤀𐤎𐤕 𐤕𐤄 𐤊𐤌𐤁𐤓 𐤕𐤄 𐤅𐤓 𐤎𐤐𐤍𐤟

𐤁 𐤅𐤋𐤊𐤌 𐤔𐤎𐤍 𐤁𐤕 𐤃 𐤅𐤓𐤎𐤅𐤓 𐤕𐤄 𐤊𐤓𐤆𐤟

𐤅𐤕𐤄 𐤕𐤄𐤎 𐤅𐤄 𐤃𐤎𐤓 𐤃𐤓 𐤕𐤄 𐤍𐤕 𐤍𐤕𐤓𐤕𐤅𐤍𐤟

𐤊𐤌 𐤅𐤓𐤕𐤄 𐤎𐤕𐤓𐤍𐤂𐤓 𐤃𐤍𐤕𐤋𐤎𐤎 𐤊𐤍𐤅𐤓𐤍𐤕 𐤕𐤄 𐤕𐤓𐤋𐤟

𐤅𐤕𐤄𐤎𐤕𐤍𐤃 𐤕𐤄 𐤕𐤄𐤓𐤎𐤕 𐤕𐤄 𐤎𐤐𐤓𐤕 𐤌𐤓𐤋𐤎𐤎 𐤍𐤃 𐤁𐤓𐤃𐤟

𐤀𐤃𐤂𐤄𐤕 𐤕𐤄 𐤕𐤄𐤅𐤕𐤎 𐤋𐤎𐤕 𐤕𐤓𐤕𐤄 𐤋𐤎 𐤕 𐤃𐤍𐤋𐤟

𐤊𐤌 𐤅𐤓𐤕𐤄 𐤃𐤓𐤓 𐤃𐤓𐤅 𐤕𐤄 𐤎𐤅𐤓𐤃 𐤓𐤕𐤕𐤍 𐤍𐤃 𐤅𐤋𐤅𐤃𐤟

𐤌 𐤓𐤎𐤕 𐤁𐤊𐤌 𐤂𐤋𐤌 𐤅𐤓𐤃𐤊𐤕 𐤀 𐤌𐤎𐤕𐤓𐤋𐤟

𐤊𐤌 𐤅𐤓𐤕𐤄 𐤃𐤓𐤓 𐤕𐤄 𐤎𐤅𐤓𐤃 𐤃𐤓𐤅𐤍 𐤂𐤍𐤎 𐤕𐤄 𐤂𐤃𐤟


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: Well, next chapter done. No terrible poems this time, I swear, just some hints about how the story will advance here and there. Enjoy... if possible.**

* * *

 **Part 10**

* * *

 _Edward Elric was given a riddle, but not just any riddle. One that was meant only for him. One that only he could solve. The riddle was a poem. A poem that challenged him to oppose the God, to change his fate. Yet, if fate destined him to uncover the poem, then following the instructions would only mean fulfilling it completely. He resisted, he swore he would change it his own way, with his own methods, his own thinking. Or, was it so? Perhaps he misunderstood, perhaps he was actually destined to disobey from the very beginning. Let us see what the clash of wills shall bring about._

* * *

But, nothing happened. He kneeled there, palms forcefully pressed to the floor, teeth clenched in resolve and his mind set on nothing but his goal, his prediction. Yet, it did not seem to be enough. He failed. How could he have thought he would be able to use alchemy again just because he wished to, just because he needed? He was being naïve. There was no way to resist the God's bidding after all, was there? Everything in the world, every being, every phenomenon, every last bit of energy, circles, forming a giant cycle, a cycle that humans cannot see or comprehend. His loss of alchemy was part of that cycle. The only thing that matters in nature is balance, after all. Equivalent Exchange is the one and only rule of this world. One cannot alter the flow, no matter what he does or what he thinks. Fate wanted this to be the end of his journey, the end of his ideals, his naïve views. Fate did not let him go on. But, perhaps, there was still someone out there who did.

"No, this is not the end!" cried Edward. "C'mon, Truth, you jerk, let go!" He was not going to accept defeat. Never, not when lives of others depended on his success. He thought he could hear Truth's provocative laugh. "Now you're laughing at me, huh?! It's no use, you know? I'll stay here, I'll stay here for days, for years, for eternity; I'll stay here until you let go!" he kept shouting with his hands still touching the floor and his head turned upwards.

"Mr. Elric, look!" Yolkin beckoned to a point on the wall in front of Ed.

And there he saw it. The same shape as before, shining blue. It disappeared within two seconds and the wall began to decompose revealing another room right beyond. In the center of it was a small stone plinth. It was severely damaged and rotted with cracks all over. Upon it lied a pile of papers, old, yellowish and tattered papers held together by a single string. Ed's mouth smiled and his eyes sparkled in delight. He did it. He found what he had been looking for, something that would finally explain everything. He believed that was true. He rushed toward the plinth and having seized the papers, got down to browsing through them. It was all there – number of different geometrical figures along with indicators and descriptions. He was so excited he had not almost noticed the plinth moved a few feet away having unveiled a trapdoor underneath.

"Hey, Yolkin, let's…" he stopped in the middle of the sentence. He was going to say 'Let's go,' but then he realized Yolkin was not going anywhere in his state. Edward peered at him worriedly and questioningly as though he requested his advice about further course of action.

"It seems I'm not going anywhere, Mr. Elric. But, don't worry about me, I'll get out of this mess, somehow," he answered to his gaze.

"Yolkin…"

"You found what you were looking for, right? The answer is there, in those documents, I know it. Just go," said Yolkin encouragingly.

Edward shook his head. "I'm not leaving you behind! Many years ago I swore I'd never abandon anyone, that I'd never let anyone else die because of me!"

"I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it for the citizens of this country, for the very future of the Drachman nation," he stated, quite calmly. Then he took a small notebook out if his jacket's inner pocket and wrote something down.

Ed just stared at him and dreaded the decision he was about to be forced to make.

"Here," Yolkin handed over the notebook to him, "return to my mansion and give this to the servants," he had instructed Ed before he muffled his mouth with his hand and coughed repeatedly.

"Yolkin!" Ed cried and kneeled to help him. He supported him with his right hand while still holding the notebook in his left. However, a feeling of terror struck him the moment Yolkin stopped coughing and looked at his palm. It was bloody.

"It's severer than I thought," remarked Yolkin and started hacking again. He halted a few seconds later and turned his face to Ed. He told him, his voice hoarse: "As I said, give this to my servants. It's an order for them to help you. They'll give you everything you need. Food, clothes, transport… And one more thing. The documents are written in glyphs, right?" He pointed at the papers Ed was holding.

Ed just nodded.

"You'll need to search my library," Yolkin continued, "take as many books as you can carry about glyphs and ancient Drachman. You'll need to do the translation yourself this time. I don't think I'll be around to help." He forced blood out of his lungs.

Edward just watched him. He had no idea what to say. He knew Yolkin was eventually going to impel him to leave. He also knew, though he did not want to admit it, that it was impossible for the two of them to escape if Yolkin could not walk by himself. He was desperately for an alternative to arise, but his thoughts were abruptly ripped off him by Yolkin's yell.

"What're you waiting for? Go! Find Williams and escape!"

Edward did not move.

"Go!" Yolkin repeated and gave him a decisive look.

Ed started to tremble and hit the floor with his fist. "Dammit!" he shouted. "Why are bad choices always the only ones left?!" He stood up and pointed his index at Yolkin, acting as tough as he managed in such situation. "Fine, I'm leaving you here, then. Don't you dare die here or I'll find you on the other side and punch you super-hard, you understand?!" he shouted at Yolkin and sped toward the trapdoor giving him one last concerned gaze as he opened it and passed through.

When Yolkin was certain that Ed was gone, he smiled in utter content. Then he used all his remaining strength and hit the floor many times to catch the nearby soldiers' attention, while screaming: "Hey! I'm down here! Help me out!"

Edward could hear his shouts indistinctively as he was already deep in a narrow, round underground tunnel. It was straight and completely dark. The only light in it emitted the torch he brought along. He had to leave it behind him, though, as the path was getting narrower. Before long, he had to crawl to fit.

The farther he advanced, the more worried about Yolkin he became. He would never forgive himself if anything were to happen to him. It was he, Ed, who dragged him into all this, after all. He used him as a means to achieve his goal. He enlisted his aid, he used his resources, his knowledge, his kindness so as to lay his hands on the documents he so protectively held in his right hand, the documents he so desperately sought. The end justifies the means. Is that what he thought? Is that what he became? Did he become one of those who are willing to sacrifice others in order to achieve 'the greater good'? Is this what adulthood meant? Words that Maj. Miles said to him years ago resonated in his mind. 'It's easier to kill someone than keep them alive.' He was talking about an enemy back then, about Kimblee. But, was it not applicable to friends as well? Was it easier for him to leave Yolkin behind than try to save him? He could not believe what concepts his mind was creating as he crawled in the passage. He resisted the idea that his younger self would not have abandoned Yolkin, that he would have come up with a solution to the problem, that he would have somehow managed to escape _and_ save Yolkin in the same time. He knew he was not able to think the same way as before. He could no longer think of an option which was not given to him. 'When there's no door, I'll make one.' This was no longer true, he thought. It was the first time in his life that he finally admitted how dependent on and useless without alchemy he actually was. 'The Truth truly is a fucking jerk,' he thought. He had accepted the exchange – Ed's alchemy for Alphonse, claiming he had defeated him. In fact, he was toying with him. He knew that Edward's alchemy was not enough to equilibrate the life of another person. 'That's correct, alchemist.' That was what he had replied to Ed when he had said he still had friends even though he had alchemy no more. Truth knew, though, that a moment would come when his friends would be taken from him as well. By having taken his alchemy, he robbed him off his way to protect what was dear to him, off his way to deal with critical situations. Yolkin was the first one he was unable to protect. More will come, though. Will he able to save Williams? Will he able to save Yolkin? Will he able to save _anyone_? With great power comes great responsibility. Yet, he, having lost his power, is no longer capable of bearing the responsibility. He now understood. He understood how foolish it was from him to ask for this mission, how foolish it was to think that he could help, that he could save lives. He was useless now. He had no power to do anything but run away. As he aged he lost a lot of things but few did he gain. He lost his power, his alchemy, the thing that accompanied him his whole life and as a result he will eventually lose his friends as well, his friends who are way more important to him than anything else in this world. But, what did he gain? He gained neither wisdom nor experience. He thought he had learnt his lesson. He thought he had endured the pain and walked away from it, but he was wrong. The pain that is about to come will be far greater than ever before. One cannot gain anything without losing something first. He just did not lose enough in return.

Yet, he still gained something, he realized. He gained a heart that can overcome any obstacle, a Fullmetal heart. Yes, he did not gain wisdom or experience, but he did gain his heart, his resolve to never give up, to succeed or die trying. And that is what he was going to do. He was not going to run away. He was going to come back for Yolkin and save him. He will stay arrogant. He will keep thinking that he can protect everyone. He was sure that if he acted otherwise he would never be able to face his family, or his brother. He could not look at the eyes of the people that care for him or accept their love and kindness again. He could no longer _live_ if he gave up. He will come back; he will sure come back...

* * *

 _President Kuryavov's residence, Irkutsk_

* * *

It was late at night when a phone rang in President Kuryavov's bedroom.

"Sir?" sounded the voice of the calling officer.

"Yes? What is it? Why're you waking me up?" answered Kuryavov, quite irritated by his officer's insolence.

"Sir, my uttermost apologies, but there are thirteen men in black cloaks standing in front of the main door, sir," officer reported.

"What?! How did they get past the gates?" enquired the president infuriatedly already planning to fire the gatekeepers.

"No idea, sir. They just appeared out of nowhere," replied the officer, already pretty nervous.

"Out of nowhere? What kind of stupid prank is this? I'm hanging up…"

"No, wait, sir! It's no prank, sir, they just…"

"Wait, did you say they were thirteen?" Kuryavov cut in, his face reflecting confusion and horror.

"Yes, sir, thirteen," the officer seconded.

"And did you say they wore black cloaks and hoods?"

"Yes, sir. Black cloaks and hoods."

"It can't be. They weren't to arrive for another twenty years," Kuryavov thought aloud.

"Ehm, sir, are you all right?" asked the officer, bewildered by that last statement.

"But, who else could that be? Cloaks and hoods, out of nowhere…"

The officer remained silent this time.

"Let them in," the president commanded.

"But, sir…" the officer started protesting although he did not understand the situation one bit.

"Are you deaf? I said let them in!" roared Kuryavov.

"Yes, sir!" The officer responded swiftly and blindly complied with the order.

Before long, the main door of the mansion opened and the thirteen men went in. Their pace was quick and their steps regular and unwavering. They ascended the stairs as Kuryavov put his official suit on and quickly scurried to his workroom. There already waited six soldiers with hands on holsters, ready to protect the president in case of emergency. The members of the Brotherhood of Creation entered and spread around the room, the Prior before them and facing the president directly. He did not lose a single bit of time and asked promptly: "Are the stones ready?"

"Can we speak in private?" the president asked him and gestured his soldiers to leave. They were unwilling to comply, so he shouted: "Leave!"

When all six soldiers left the room, the Prior waved his hand and his twelve brethren followed them immediately.

"Are the stones ready?" he asked again, his eyes – invisible through the hood – surveyed president's face thoroughly.

"The thing is, we didn't expect you to show up for at least two more decades, so…" replied Kuryavov, trying to hide his tremor.

"Hasten the production," the Prior ordered, his voice calm and indifferent as always.

"Well, we're quite short of resources, if you understand?"

"Hasten the production," the Prior repeated his last order, flawlessly imitating the same volume and intonation. When the president did not say anything, he started raising his hand.

"Okay, okay, fine, fine…" Kuryavov agreed quickly as he saw Prior's hand. "There's no need for violence," he added, not certain whether it had been a good thing to say.

The Prior turned around and made a step toward the door, but was stopped by the president.

"Wait!" he said in a too directive voice. The Prior swung to face him again and Kuryavov, realizing the previous tone of his voice, added politely: "…please."

One observed the another for merely one second.

"Perhaps… If you would… I just wanted to…" He cleared his throat. "Ehm, ehm, I would greatly appreciate if you were so unspeakably willing to unveil the reason for this unexpected haste," he asked as courteously as he possibly could.

"The Brotherhood of Preservation has set their plan in motion. They will succeed, should we not act without delay. Hence, hasten the production," Prior informed him. Then he left the workroom.

Once he was gone, the president exhaled deeply in relief. He rose his hand to his chin and began rubbing it, wondering about the future.


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: No notes this time. I just repeat that there is no magic happening. Every phenomenon has its explanation, as scientific as I can make up.**

* * *

 **Part 11**

* * *

 _Edward won his trial. He acquired documents which, according to his supposition, were bound to contain an explanation to past events, to reveal the secret behind Drachman alchemy, to shed light on the 'miraculous' transmutations he had witnessed. Howbeit, not long after did he have to prove himself again. Long ago, he declared: "I'll not become anything, I always_ was _a puny human." Back then he had not understood the weight of those words. He had not understood he could not defeat the Truth so easily, that things could not go his way just since he had wished them to. His retribution did not end. He realized he had not paid enough for what he had gained and that his debt should hunt him relentlessly. He realized he had to accept his very self, his self that was incapable of the same feats as before. He had to accept that there existed boundaries, limits to his abilities. Old truths withered and putrefied, the time came for new ones to be given birth. That was the process called_ growth _. That was what Ed had to accept. The sole fact that he had grown up._

* * *

Edward successfully reached the end of the tunnel. The piercing sunlight blinded him the instant his head arrived at the surface, promptly followed by his hands and chest. He heard the gunfire had ceased and so had the footsteps and voices. He wondered how far away from the hall he was. The only way to find out was to look around and so he did. Having judged from a number of old dilapidated buildings and several piles of rubble around, he concluded he had not yet left the restricted area, much to his joy. Williams still had to be somewhere nearby, he thought. They _did_ determine a place in the area which to meet in after their inspection was over, but they also expected things to run smoothly. There was no telling Williams would have the opportunity to get there. Yet, it was Ed's only option. He sat down, crossed his legs and arms and concentrated deeply. He was trying to approximate his position based on the tunnel's direction and length. It was an uneasy task, as the tunnel was curved in many parts and also the closer to the exit the narrower it got. In spite thereof, Edward soon estimated his location, albeit roughly, and decided the direction he should follow. He stood up and hied to the meeting point.

He did not meet anyone along the way. It seemed highly suspicious to him. Although many troops were sent away, he still supposed he should have met at least a couple of them. But, the place was completely deserted. In twenty or fewer minutes he arrived at his destination, although he almost got lost several times. Yet again, no one there. He wondered what his options were. He had no idea how far Williams was or if he could reach this place at all. He had a perfect chance to escape unnoticed and come back for him later. The moment this idea crossed his mind he clenched his teeth in utter anger, anger that he had even considered to leave him. He flushed away the thought immediately and got down to surveying the surroundings, albeit with little success. He was wandering all around the area meeting with no signs of human or any other life. He started to get exasperate, unconsciously kicking stones while he walked. He was irritated because he knew he would have to near the hall to find out what had happened. He was afraid, afraid that if things went bad he would never get _this_ close to the truth again. Yolkin placed his confidence in him. He believed he would be able to decode the materials and use them properly. If he went back there, high chances were that he was going to fail and get captured, that the documents would fall into Drachman army's hands and, thus, be out of his reach for good. This must not happen, he thought. But, he could not abandon Williams and Yolkin, either. He shook his head furiously and smashed the remnants of a nearby wall with his automail leg. "To hell with the papers. If I lose them, I'll just figure it out on my own and that's it! I'm going back," he said aloud. Ed returned to the meeting place and hid the documents behind a crumbling wall and covered it thoroughly with ashes. Afterwards, he set off for the hall, running.

As he was getting closer, he started to hear voices. That was a good sign, he thought. If they did not leave yet, there must be a reason for that. And there truly was. There stood a group of soldiers, right in front of the crashed truck, Yolkin's truck. He approached them carefully, hiding behind rubble, to see what they were doing. He saw a soldier strongly slap a man with the reverse side of his palm. The man fell on the ground and coughed up blood. Edward leaned forward and squinted to see his face.

"I'll ask you for the _last_ time! Who the hell are you and what're you doing here?!" shouted the soldier.

Edward covered his mouth so as not to let out a shriek of shock. The interrogated man was Williams. He lied there with his legs and hands tied, his face already bruised almost beyond recognition.

"I already told you. I'm Artur Aleskeevich Ukhov, an army supplier," he spoke, though he seemed to have had to make an unspeakable effort to open his mouth.

"Raise him up and hold him tight," the soldier had ordered before giving him another harsh slap. "Don't worry. You'll speak soon, and willingly," he added and spat in Williams' face.

Edward's entire body was trembling in utter fury and grudge. He barely held himself back. He wanted to beat the hell out of the soldier so badly he could hardly imagine anything else but his fists hitting his face and the feeling of absolute satisfaction while doing so. He was lucky a voice of reason inside his head sounded, telling him to control himself. Even if he somehow managed to defeat the group of armed officers surrounding Williams, he would never get away with him beaten up like that. He painfully realized there was no way he could help him now. He was again reminded of how important his alchemy was to him and to his companions in situations like these. And that its loss was not by any means an end to his suffering, but more of a catalyzer thereof. He lied there, hidden, and deedlessly watched what would happen next.

"Throw him to the rear, next to the other one. We're taking them to HQ," the soldier commanded and would have been ready to march away if another soldier, supposedly a medic, had not stopped him.

"Sir, the one in the rear must visit the hospital first. He's got a severe fracture and internal hemorrhage. His life might be in jeopardy," the medic protested.

"To hell with hospital. Neither of them is going anywhere until I get my answers," he retorted and walked away, having pushed the medic away with his shoulder.

'So, they're taking them to the HQ,' Ed thought. He decided to follow them there and make up a rescue plan. It was not a hard task as their jeep left clear traces in the dusty ground. He trotted swiftly, still wondering why all soldiers left the area. He did not manage to suppress his anger completely and was not sure if he would be able to think clearly. But, in order to save Yolkin and Williams he had to; his actions had to be flawless, or else he would end up putting them in even greater danger, not to mention his own life.

It took him five hours to reach Irkutsk. The sunset was near and he was exhausted. But, he had no time for exhaustion, he thought. The incoming night only played into his favor. It was always easier to sneak somewhere in the dark than during daylight hours. Before long, he found the headquarters. It was a large, rectangular building with grey walls and Drachman flags – a blue bear on a red background – hanging all over. There were many entrances to the building. It had already been quite dark before Edward found a small one with only two officers guarding it. He thought it best to steal either one's uniform and disguise himself as a soldier before proceeding. Therefore, he ran towards them under a pretense that he was being chased by a villain. He used the brief moment of distraction and knocked them both out with a series of well-aimed blows. One had his uniform together with the keys to the entrance stolen and Edward hid the two unconscious men behind a nearby bush. He then entered the building.

The interior did not look unlike typical Amestrian military headquarters. All walls were painted in the most monotonous shade of grey and there were no decorations, whatsoever. Every so often one could see a large double window with bars on it and a wooden bench beneath. Officers passed through the corridors like ghosts, without expression; some sat on benches, legs crossed, pens in their mouths and huge piles of papers on their knees; others were emerging from countless offices along the passageway just to join the first ones. Edward read the inscriptions on the door, which were mainly names he did not and _could_ not know. He was not certain why he was doing that, perhaps he hoped he would find a clue about Williams' and Yolkin's whereabouts. Needless to say, he failed. He wandered around the headquarters for at least half an hour trying to find a plan of it which could tell him where the interrogation room was – he logically expected their interrogation to go on as the soldier who had hit Williams had been furious about him not having said anything. But, his desperate search was abruptly terminated by a weird anxious feeling he had suddenly experienced. He stopped and closed his eyes to suppress it, but his anxiety only rose. His brain ordered his body to shiver as his eardrums vibrated in response to a seemingly daring, but actually deeply frightened voice.

It said: "What're you doing here, now? We already sped up the production. The required number of stones will be fabricated in due course. So, what do you want?"

Edward's eyes widened. 'Stones? Don't tell me he means…'

A hoarse bass voice replied, cutting in Edward's thought: "You hold two men imprisoned. Where are they?"

Edward's ears now focused wholly on the conversation; any hypotheses regarding the philosopher's stone were freed from his mind. 'This is my chance. He's sure talking about Yolkin and Williams,' he whispered to himself in joy and expectation, although he was still afflicted with anxiety.

"How do you know?" the first voice asked in surprise combined with incredulity.

"Where are they?" the deep voice repeated.

"Interrogation room. 2nd basement floor. Third door to the right," came the answer.

Edward's eyes sparkled in delight. But, delight soon changed into terror as the door of the office opened and out came a cloaked man, the Prior. Edward did not understand his own feelings. Why was he frightened? Or, more precisely, what was he frightened about? He had no answer. For some peculiar reason, the presence and appearance of this man made him feel rather scared and distressed. 'Who the hell is that guy?' he thought. To his disbelief, his body just stood there like frozen and he watched as the Prior walked away and probably to the place Yolkin and Williams were. And not only he, but all the other officers stopped walking and observed the hooded figure. All pens left their rightful mouths, leaving them ajar. Formerly expressionless faces now conveyed the same emotions as Edward had. It seemed like the time had stopped in the headquarters. The Prior completely ignored his surroundings and directed his lower limbs towards the third door to the right, 2nd basement floor, his pace fast and footsteps inhumanly regular.

So soon as the Prior left his sight, Edward positively realized he had no time to just stand by. He snapped out of the odd freezing aura and followed him, as stealthily as he could. That was undoubtedly difficult to do, as he was the only one walking amongst numerous motionless officer statues. The Prior did not seem to notice, or care. He descended one staircase after another, Edward always one floor above him. When the Prior was getting closer to the interrogation room, Ed concentrated as much as he could so as to catch any noise coming out of there. But, nothing reached his ears. Even when he made it to 1st basement floor, he could not hear anything. It was completely quiet in there. He halted, wondering if this was ultimately the right place. Perhaps, the man he followed had noticed him and had led him astray intentionally. He did not yet know how lucky he actually was to stop descending.

The Prior reached the door to the interrogation room. He opened it slowly, but stopped right on the threshold. Three men in official black suits identical to Yolkin's stood there, their hands spread and palms aimed at him. On each one's right hand was the symbol of the Brotherhood of Preservation – a regular hexagon with an eye in its center, left hand was marked by the alchemical symbol for air – a triangle crossed by a horizontal line below its tip.

"We were awaiting you," said one of them.

The three clapped their hands at the very same moment. Then each turned his right hand's palm 90° clockwise and his left hand's palm 90° counter-clockwise, so that both palms were united solely by the lower part of either's hypothenar. The very moment the three finished their gesture, all six symbols began glowing blue and an energy orb accumulated in front of them. It exploded, but the enormous blast was directed precisely towards the Prior's position.

Edward fell to the floor as the staircase mere six feet below him got broken to pieces. He held the railing tightly, but it was no use for the very ground beneath his body started bending and breaking. The supportive columns were destroyed together with one fifth of the 2nd basement floor. Before he could climb up the railing to escape to still stable parts of the headquarters, the stone floor definitively crumbled and his body plummeted to a mass of debris. He tried to influence his fall by twitching furiously in the air, but it did not help. He hit his head having landed right on a dull boulder. He had lost consciousness and rolled down another few feet before he got stopped by wall remnants.

Meanwhile, a kind of spherical force field formed around the Prior, emitting purple electric sparks all over and protecting him from the explosion and falling rocks.

"Pf, Father's medallion," remarked one of those three men who were still facing the Prior.

"How did you know we were here?" another enquired.

The Prior did not answer. He surveyed them for a brief moment, then turned away and made his way out through the rubble. The trio watched him as he was leaving; when they lost the sight of him, they left the devastated building as well.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: I'm sorry I needed much more time to finish this chapter than the previous ones. However, I'm afraid this will become my regular pace henceforth, as my 'real-life' duties, to school especially, restrain me from dedicating as much time to the story as I did in the beginning of the month. I assure you I will finish the story; there will just be some pauses between chapters. Forgive.**

* * *

 **Part 12**

* * *

 _Edward Elric reached the military headquarters in the capital city of Irkutsk. He disguised as a military officer and searched the building, seeking clues about Yolkin's and Williams' position. As he passed through a corridor, he experienced something he did not expect in the slightest. A feeling of angst overwhelmed him as he crossed paths with the Prior. The very presence of the man had kept him immobile until he managed to cage his feelings and focus on his target. He followed the man, believing he would lead him to his comrades. Just in time he began doubting the fact and paused his descent, much to his luckiness. The floor below him crumbled due to a mysterious explosion and he fell down uncontrollably, having hit the back of his head. Nearly an hour later, he was found by Drachman officers rummaging through the rubble._

* * *

"Hey! C'mere!" an officer shouted to two others behind him.

"Why? You found something?"

"Yeah, there's someone lying here," he answered.

"What?! No one could've survived _that_ ," said the other disbelievingly.

"He looks like he felt down or something," was the officer's way to explain what happened. He leant closer toward Edward and read the tag on his uniform. "Sgt. Gusarov, huh?" he whispered.

"What did you say?" the third officer entered the conversation the moment he heard Gusarov's name.

"It's Sgt. Gusarov," repeated the one leaning over Ed's body and pointing at his tag.

"Gusarov? Isn't he supposed to be guarding the eastern entrance? What's he doing here?" he said and leant over Ed as well.

"No idea. But we should definitely take let the doctors take a look at him. In case he's got a fracture or something," declared the one still standing aside and watching as his fellow soldiers cleared Ed's uniform and brown hair of dust.

"All right," one rasped as the other wrapped Ed's arms around his neck. He supported Ed's thighs with his hands and started slowly making his way through the debris – Ed's body on his back and his head resting on the soldier's. Off and to the headquarters' hospital the three went.

* * *

 _A forest near the HQ_

* * *

"Perfect timing, that they had," Williams remarked ironically as he and Yolkin sat under a large tree in the dark woods. "I hardly had any strength left to run from all that beating."

Yolkin remained silent. It seemed suspicious to Williams; he was always the one to talk and scheme, but this time he just sat there and panted.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "Didn't things go according to the plan?"

"They did," Yolkin answered baldly.

"But…" Williams forced him to go on.

Yolkin sighed, realizing the dialogue was inevitable. "But, he's far too clever," he answered.

"And that's a problem? Wouldn't that only make things easier?" Williams asked confusedly.

"Oh, that sure _might_ ," came the response in a tone which was slowly reaching irritation.

Williams decided not to give up the matter, though, and demanded elucidation. "So, what is it? I still don't see your point."

"The point is, brother, that he might possibly arrive at a different interpretation; a one my father didn't think of, or at least decided not to mention anything about," Yolkin answered rather perplexingly, but it seemed to have made absolute sense to Williams.

"Might he? When you said clever, you meant _that_ clever?" Confusion in his voice successfully converted into disbelief.

"I'm afraid yes. And he's also highly stubborn and self-confident. The issue is, he'll stay loyal to his own path no matter what the circumstances are," Yolkin kept explaining.

"What happened in the hall?" Williams enquired, deducing Yolkin's words had referred to events in the secret room.

"Oh, he did solve the riddle with the torches within merely two minutes, but that wasn't unexpected. What _was_ unexpected was his reaction to the poem."

"Did he follow the instructions?"

"That's it, dear brother, he didn't and he still succeeded," Yolkin replied worriedly.

"How can that be? He couldn't possibly know what to do without reading it, could he?" Williams' eyes widened in concern and curiosity.

"No, he did read and analyze it, quite precisely, I guess. He realized all the main points. He realized the poem was meant for him only; he realized the meaning of it was he mustn't accept his fate without a fight," Yolkin explained.

"I don't understand. What did he do wrong, then?"

"That's where the issue lies, brother. Nothing and everything," Yolkin replied enigmatically.

Williams raised his left eyebrow in question.

"He made up something, even we, the very creators of the code, overlooked," he added.

"And that was?" Williams started to get nervous.

"He realized that by following the instructions in the poem to change his fate, he would only change it the way he was destined to change it, since he knew it had been his fate to read the poem to begin with. He decided to disobey the instructions and oppose the God's will his own way," Yolkin continued.

"Don't tell me the door opened when he didn't follow the instructions. You programmed it perfectly to react on seeker's mental and emotional state. He couldn't have opened it if he didn't control his thoughts and emotions flawlessly," Williams argued.

"Oh, but he did open the door. He was nowhere near the programmed state and he still advanced. That's why I'm worried about him creating his own interpretation of father's words." Yolkin got silent for a moment. "But, at least I'm reassured he's the one we're looking for," he then added.

"You are?"

"Oh, yes. He's the man from the prophecy, there's no way he wasn't. Whether he uses his power to create or preserve, or neither of the two, is something we'll find out no sooner but in the very end. For now, all we can do is fringe his path. If it seems his decision will contradict our plan, I'll intervene." Yolkin added decisively and gave Williams a piercing look reflecting that the conversation is clearly over.

"What now?" Williams asked indifferently.

"Now I'll fix our bodies. Our brethren are bound to be here soon," answered Yolkin unwillingly imitating Williams' voice. He took out a rusty knife from his besmirched trousers' pocket and began carving a symbol in the dry mud beneath his feet. In a few seconds he drew the symbol of the Preservation and enclosed the hexagon in a double circle, into which he wrote:

 _Sun shall inflame the living,_

 _ocean shall swallow the land,_

 _as one shall arise, seeking_

 _what sacred to human hand._

The moment he touched the symbol it gleamed blue and sparks covered both Yolkin's and Williams' bodies. Before long, Yolkin's bruises were all gone, his suit clean as brand new, his hair shortened significantly and he also lost his slowly growing beard. Not only that, but also all wrinkles from his face faded out and he looked fairly younger. The same happened to Williams. His cheeks – which had been full of contusions and scars from his unpleasant meeting with Drachman soldiers just a while before – healed completely, his clothes transmuted into a suit like Yolkin's and his fake hair together with all other surgical changes to his face – for disguise –disappeared. They were replaced by his original ones – black hair and very distinctive dark green eyes. Rejuvenation did not overlook him, either, and when the two stood up, they looked like two ambitious, handsome businessmen in their twenties.

Their 'brethren' arrived as Yolkin had foreseen. Soon enough, three men, which had attacked the Prior a short time before, entered the woods. They directed their footsteps towards Yolkin the moment they sighted him and halted before him – all three at exactly the same time. They stood rigidly and observed him carefully not daring to speak prior to him.

"I assume you were unsuccessful, my brethren," said Yolkin calmly, without single sign of emotion.

"That we were, Prior," the three answered at once, as though their minds were connected in some way.

"Oh, and why is that?" Yolkin enquired, still omitting to put tone in his voice, even though he did not restrain himself from his typical 'Oh'.

"He brought Father's medallion along, Prior," only the one midst them answered this time.

"He anticipated your presence?" Yolkin asked – doubtfulness could be found in his voice upon closer inspection.

"If he did, we aren't aware of how he could have," the same one as before replied.

"No matter; we still have enough time before they fabricate enough stones for their plan to begin. When they slept, we appointed our man to the presidential position. He ought to slow it down a little; he can't stop it completely if he wants to avoid being suspected, though," Yolkin explained and gestured his four brethren to follow him through and out of the forest.

During their trek, one of them asked Yolkin: "Where's the Fullmetal Alchemist now?"

"He's supposed to be in, or on his way to, my villa, translating the documents," Yolkin mumbled in reply.

"He's supposed to? You haven't confirmed that?" Williams pressured, but his voice sounded worried.

Yolkin gave him a questioning and a little threatening gaze, reacting to his unexpected emotion. "I haven't had a chance to contact him since he left the secret room," he responded serenely, despite his facial expression.

"Chances are he went back for us," Williams remarked.

Yolkin's feet experienced an abrupt stop. He turned around to face the two pairs. "Why'd he do that?" he queried, although he foresaw Williams' answer.

"He's the type that never abandons anyone in danger," came the presumed elucidation.

"Even those who aren't close to him?"

"It doesn't matter to him. He always seeks to protect everyone, no matter whether he can or not. His nature and instincts command him so," Williams informed him.

"It might be troublesome, if he did come back," whispered Yolkin and rubbed his chin. "I must ask you to part with us for some time now, brother," he told Williams. "Go back to the HQ and find whatever you can about his current whereabouts. We need him to translate the documents anon. It'll take him some time to understand them as well. Make sure he does it right," he ordered.

Williams promptly drew the symbol Yolkin had beforehand – the symbol of Preservation within a double circle – and all his former attributes were back. His black hair changed to fake brown and his face was newly covered by bruises and scars. A torn grey coat covered him and so did an old white shirt with black jacket over it. His black suit trousers were transmuted into pale brown ones with holes all over. He looked just like his past self that had left the HQ about an hour ago. His transformation complete, he nodded at his companions and trotted away.

"Do you think he's right?" asked one of the men walking behind Yolkin when their eyes lost Williams' figure.

"Oh, that we'll find out. He's had some time to analyze him, after all. I trust his judgement," Yolkin rejoined disinterestedly.

* * *

 _Brig. Gen. Roy Mustang's office, Eastern Military HQ, Amestris_

* * *

It was 8 PM. A phone rang in Mustang's office as he was finishing his regular daily paperwork. He picked up the handle and, forcing himself ineffably, he spoke in a voice as polite as someone who spent twelve hours behind a desk could possibly get: "Brig. Gen. Roy Mustang, Eastern Military Headquarters. Whom am I speaking with?"

"Hey, Brig. Gen., it's me, Alphonse," the voice on the other side replied.

"Alphonse? Hey, it's sure been a while," Mustang said surprisingly, smiling, happy the caller was someone he knew.

"Yep, I guess it was. 4 years, huh? Since we last saw each other," Alphonse seconded.

"What can I do for you? I assume you haven't called me just to chit-chat…" asked Mustang, the irony in his voice nearly undistinguishable due to his tiredness.

"Well, I guess I'll get right to the point then. Do you happen to know where brother is?" Alphonse asked directly. Mustang's side remained silent, so he continued: "You know, I couldn't reach him over the phone and Winry said he's journeying again. But, she won't tell me anything else. I've known her for a long time and she was never this quiet or kind to me like when I talked to her. Her voice was trembling and I'd bet she was crying, too. So, I figured out he's somewhere dangerous. Do you know anything about it?" Alphonse recounted the phone call with Winry he had had about twenty minutes ago and, although he had basically raised a question to the Mustang, he was sure the Brig. Gen. knew something of his brother's whereabouts.

Mustang still did not answer, but Al could overhear a silent sigh.

"You sent him on some risky mission, right?" he queried calmly, but Mustang knew he was angry with him.

"Alphonse…" Roy was about to explain himself, but Alphonse cut in abruptly.

"Where to?" he demanded, his voice started to shake slightly.

Mustang thought lying would only make things worse and he could not bring himself to deceive a friend, either. He answered frankly: "To Drachma."

Al's side went quiet. Mustang closed his eyes and clenched his teeth preparing himself for a rough scolding. Al was not the type to get upset easily, if, and only if, the matter did not include his family.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Al exploded.

"He asked for the mission himself," Mustang explained.

Al froze, his anger suddenly lost to his consternation. "What did you say?" he said in low voice.

"He asked for the mission himself, I said," Mustang repeated.

Al's eyes widened and tears glittered in their corners. He was overwhelmed by sudden feeling of guilt. 'It's all my fault;' he thought, 'it was me who advised him to do this. It was that stupid advice "Listen to your heart." that made him do something so reckless. Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut? He could be home now, with his family, and not running all over Drachma, hunting something that might just as well turn out to be a trifle, or some bad joke.' Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind and he burst out: "He's not alone in there… he isn't, right?!" But before Mustang could even open his mouth to reply, Al went on shouting: "Dammit, answer me, is he alone?!"

"No, he isn't."

Al's heartbeat slowed down a little. 'At least one good message,' he thought in relief.

"I sent our very best expert on Drachma along," Mustang had added before Al asked the foreseen question.

Al decided to calm himself down and was partly successful. He thought it best to discuss the matter with Mustang in peace and logically, without shouting at him. He was still very irate, though, that he let Ed infiltrate a hostile country with his alchemy unusable. He was glad he talked with him over the phone, otherwise he would have certainly punched him by now.

"He's there because of the painting, isn't he?" Al asked, pushing his voice to the point of serenity, albeit slowly.

"Hm…" replied Brig. Gen. in confirmation.

"Do you have any reports from him?" Al enquired more.

"Unfortunately not. The only phone line we share with Drachma starts at Briggs and ramifies to three secret places in the country. Ed was informed about their location in case he needed to use them, but it seems he decided not to," Mustang spelled out.

"Or didn't manage to…" Al added fiercely, regretting the remark a second later.

Mustang leaned back in his swivel chair, closed his eyes and rubbed his nose with his left hand's fingers in vexation. He was aware this moment would come, the moment he would have to face Edward's family and take responsibility for his insecurity. He just did not expect it to strike him so deeply. He was uncertain whether it was caused by his exhaustion or not, but he realized he cared for Edward and his family much more than for any other of his subordinates or fellow men in arms. He repeated to himself that a commander must judge all his inferiors equally. Yet, he knew it was impossible. He knew the rather close relationship he had developed with Edward throughout the ten years they had kent one another was dear to him. This phone call made him believe, though, that it was dearer than he had expected. He had never had as much trouble taking the blame for his actions as right now. He was forced to use a good lot of his residual energy to subdue his feelings and keep his mind clear. He was just about ready to keep explaining when Alphonse raised another question.

"You've got no idea where he is, then?" he asked, not showing his feelings, either. The two, though unconsciously, entered some kind of emotional battle about who would manage to suppress his feelings longer.

"I believe he should be in the capital city of Irkutsk, in Northern Drachma, since that's where Williams' – the soldier I sent with him – best acquaintance lives. As far as I recall correctly, they aimed to contact him first before proceeding," Mustang informed Al.

"But, it's been a little over two weeks since he left. How can you know he's still there?" Al doubted rightfully.

"I can't," replied Mustang honestly.

Al kept silent for a moment.

"I'm going, too," he declared abruptly, much to Mustang's stupefaction and disapproval.

He violently shook his head and determined to make Al forget this idea immediately, he spoke: "I can't allow that, Alphonse. I know how much you're worried about your brother's safety, but there's no way I can let you go after him. You're not even member of the military." He could very well imagine Al's face reflecting disappointment, so he added: "Your brother is a capable man, both physically _and_ mentally. He'll be all right. But, I don't have to tell you that, do I?"

Al, however, despite Mustang's words, could not accept the idea of his brother being on a dangerous mission, while he, his brother, enjoys comfort and peaceful times studying alkahestry in Xing. He decided he would find his brother and help him out. If Mustang did not help, he could still ask Lin for support; he was the emperor and Xing did border with Drachma, after all. And if even he refused to help, he would just find another way. He was not going to abandon his brother, no matter how hard it might be to get to him under these conditions. One of many things Edward had taught him was how to be stubborn when situation required one to. Now he was determined and nothing could alter his decision.

"Thanks for your help, Brig. Gen.," he thanked Mustang and hanged up swiftly, already scheming his audience with Lin.

Mustang watched the phone handle firmly for a brief moment and then he sighed, knowing Alphonse had decided to follow his brother, regardless of his objections. The brothers lived for each other, after all. One could not abandon the other; even if he wanted to, his instincts would not allow it. He was worried about the consequences, but on the other hand, he was somehow happy. He aligned the stacks of papers on his desk and placed them neatly in the drawers of his desk. He took a look around at his empty office and rose to his feet, stretching his arms widely. As he approached the door, he delivered one last gaze to the black phone on his desk and, having smiled in content, turned off the lights and crossed the threshold.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: Please, excuse the time I needed to upload this chapter. I hope I will have time to release the following ones quite sooner, though, I can't guarantee it, sadly. One more thing: I'll probably be referring here and there to symbols used in alchemy and I'm truly far too lazy to describe the ones I didn't make up myself. You can find those in Wikipedia, under 'alchemical symbols'.**

* * *

 **Part 13**

* * *

 _Al did as he had decided to. The very next morn after his conversation with Mustang he sped towards Xing emperor's residence. He bade his sincere farewell to Mei, thanking her for her unwavering help and support throughout the past years, and having kissed her on the forehead – much to help fill her face with red – Alphonse Elric began his perilous pilgrimage – his face rather sad, but resolute._

 _He received a warm welcome from Lin Yao and his numerous servants. He, however, refused all offerings and invitations to several parties and promptly raised his request to Lin. The emperor was rather taken aback and ultimately a little worried about Ed's safety as well. He informed Al he could not support his journey, as a long-term conflict with another country – that would arise if Drachma found out about Al's infiltration – would be devastating. It took Alphonse quite some time and distinct persuading techniques to make Lin allow him to cross the borders alone. He gave him the permission in the end, though. Emperor's residence forfeited Al's presence early that evening. He was escorted – despite his objections – as near to the border as Lin dared send him. High, savage mountains blocked his path to his brother; he inspired deeply in determination and with his eyes fixed on events lying before him and never behind, he took a decisive step towards his goal._

* * *

Edward woke up. 'Dammit, my head hurts like hell,' was the first idea his mind had generated. His brain sent an impulse to his right hand to touch and rub his forehead, yet, his limb did not move. Something heavy prevented it. He raised his head as high as he could with his chest being tied down as well. Having painfully opened, his eyes travelled from one of his limbs to another sighting exactly the same thing in the process. Each and every of his limbs were tied to an iron bed he was lying on by a series of shiny steel fetters. His torso was also pressed to it and immobilized by a robust clamp. He sighed in despair and quickly hit his head back against the hard surface – far too quickly, to be precise, as the instant his flesh and the foreign metal came into contact he let out a painful and loud 'Ouch.' 'All right, things could be worse,' he thought, 'being tied is not too much of a new experience to me…'his mind added and he shortly laughed at his own sarcastic remark. He was certain they would lead him to the interrogation room – to a temporary one for the original was in pieces right now – as soon as they found out he had awoken. 'I'll just wait for someone to untie me and beat them all up as always; not a big deal,' was the first concept of his imagination; its lifespan was somehow short, though. Ed realized it might not be so easy this time. Realistically looked upon, his situation was rather troublesome. Not only could he not use his alchemy, but central military headquarters crowded with soldiers all armed to the teeth did not quite offer the best prospects of successful escape he had ever had. Hard as he thought about it, no decent scheme was to be devised. Lacking an outside aid of any kind, his chances for leaving the edifice were equal to zero, if not lower. Before long, he abandoned the scheming procedure and decided he had to improvise. Besides, memories from before the accident began filling his head, disconcerting him greatly. Conclusion about it not having been an ordinary explosion was arrived at rather instantly. He remembered very well there had been no fire or smoke, whatsoever. Judging by the few brief moments he had actually had to analyze the phenomenon before falling down and losing consciousness, it seemed to him the building was shattered by some sort of powerful, yet invisible shockwave. He knew the answer to its true nature did not float anywhere in his current pool of knowledge, just like the explanations to any of the events occurring in the last couple of days. In the past, he always used to be irritated when he did not understand an idea or a concept – since it happened so scarcely. Now, irritation was not the right word to describe the state of his mind; he was more like totally frustrated. Just one last hope continually enlightened the otherwise coal-black visions of his future – the acquired documents. He still firmly seized the rather naïve image of those ancient sheets of paper holding a clarification to everything. Due to his past experience, he swiftly realized he once more relied on an external force or factor to solve his issues, just like he did with alchemy years ago. But, what else did he have left to put trust in?

His mind was not given the chance to contemplate any longer. The door to his cell opened slowly, creaking immensely and so causing his eardrums to ache in response. In came a considerably tall man in a typical Drachman uniform – entirely black with a red ribbon around. Thanks to the latter, Edward promptly identified him as a high-ranking officer, having studied Drachman military hierarchy before his mission, though, he could not tell his exact rank mainly because of the low amount of light his rod cells had to work with. But, the precise while the officer leant over and almost pressed his nose to Ed's, smirking provocatively to show his utter supremacy, his vision was put out of commission by an unexpected inrush of ineffable amounts of adrenaline into his body. His face reddened within seconds and he clenched his teeth so furiously they almost chipped. One would imagine his muscles would have enough strength to break the steel bonds themselves when he shouted at the face of the man responsible for beating Williams unconscious: "You fucking swine!"

He entered in such a rage that he began writhing in desperate attempt to set himself free and make his over-tightly clenched fists culpable for the officer's lifelong disability. The bed even creaked several times under his pressure and the officer backed off one or two feet, watching Edward struggling until half a minute later when his body finally ran out of a good lot of adrenaline-given energy and his limbs fell back on the bed, resting uneasily.

The soldier and Ed's current interrogator thought it best to strike at that very moment. He leant over Ed again and pinched his cheek to humiliate him even farther. He then fell to reciting a monologue obviously learnt by heart. "Let's make one thing clear from the very beginning – I ask, you answer. Got it, boy?" Edward had no strength or intention to answer to this, so he kept silent. The officer went on: "There was an explosion last night. An explosion that destroyed good one fifth of the headquarters and killed many men – good, loyal men." His face slowly changed its expression – from demeaning to contemptuous. "And in the same time, a mysterious man happens to appear, a man that happens to be disguised as a Drachman officer, who happens to be found hid behind a bush, unconscious and injured; a man that happens to have survived the explosion as the only one out of exactly 53 soldiers that were in the area at that time and who already rest in shrouds. Kinda strange coincidence, isn't it?" When Ed still did not answer, the soldier's expression changed again – this time from contemptuous to slightly irate. "So, I want answers to three things, so that I could tell the fellow men's families who is responsible for their deaths and why."

Edward suddenly considered his situation far worse than several minutes ago. He was now thought responsible for what had happened, he, who probably knew even less than his interrogator. It was actually quite logical, he weened, with regard to his being the sole survivor of the attack – which alone seemed quite incredible to him; his luck was definitely nowhere close to forsaking him. The problem was he saw no way how to convince the officer, the officer he still wanted to beat up more than anything else in the world right now, despite his mind being quite clear and his anger suppressed due to exhaustion. He was also surprised he had not been relocated anywhere for the questioning. The officer was probably confident enough to deal with him had anything gone wrong.

"First question:" he stated and cleared his throat, "who are you?"

Edward was all but shocked by this question; he had seen it coming just as everybody probably had. He, of course, did not open his mouth at all.

"Second question:" the officer continued, ignoring the silence, "why are you here?"

Another anticipated query, Edward thought. He would have bet the next one would be: 'And how did you get here?' That was not the case here, nevertheless.

"Third question: how the hell have you survived the explosion?" was the piece of information the soldier demanded.

'I'm fucked,' Ed suddenly said to himself. He had expected the first two questions and was already preparing feigned replies to them, but the third one was a bit difficult to deal with. If he told him he had survived thanks to sheer luck, there would be no way he would believe him. And if he made up he had some unusual powers, that would only make things worse. The exhaustion was slowly leaving him and fury began filling it in contrast. The effort he had to make to scheme was getting greater every second and this fact infuriated him even more. He felt like his soul was relieved when the officer stood up, his fingers having released his left cheek.

The same, original smirk brightened his wrinkled face as he said: "I'll give you some time to think about the answers. I'll be back, though, so you'd better come up with something I can believe." He turned away and left the room, shutting the awfully creaking door behind himself.

Edward felt perplexed. This interrogation was totally unlike he had presumed; it could hardly be called an interrogation to begin with. He did not know what the officer planned, but he was getting nervous. He doubted they would kill him, but torture was nowhere near the image of a pleasant future, either. Just what excuse for having survived the explosion could he possibly make up? Many crossed his mind, one stupider and more unbelievable than another. He hoped Yolkin or Williams – or both in the best scenario – managed to escape and were currently thinking of a way to get him out. Howbeit, he was not sure they _would_ even if they did escape. Williams was not the type to abandon his fellow soldiers, Ed believed, but perhaps he thought it too dangerous to infiltrate central headquarters and risk being captured and possibly divulging information just to save one companion. He did not know him too well yet to foresee his reactions to such situations. The same was to be said about Yolkin as well, whom he knew even less. He seemed a dedicated, courageous and helpful guy, but how could he be sure he would not abandon him or Williams when it came to rescuing them from military's claws. His hopes were going littler and littler the more he thought about them actually becoming true and even fantastic images of Al or Mustang arriving to help him out overwhelmed his mind one or two times. He always cast them away with a whispered 'Don't be an idiot, Ed,' and went on lying tied to his bed and nurturing new possibilities before letting them wither under reality's harsh pressure.

* * *

 _Yolkin's mansion_

* * *

While Edward was being held prisoner and questioned, Williams reached Yolkin's mansion, hoping to find Ed in there, deciphering the documents. Although it was him who convinced Yolkin of Ed's intentions, he still wanted to make sure his assumptions had not been wrong. He entered the building, but to his shock, he found it deserted. The creaking of the unlocked door he had slowly opened was the only sound he could hear. All curtains were drawn shut and only pure darkness illuminated his surroundings. He advanced a step or two and the door closed behind him with its own force. He turned around in fright just to see an array – consisting of the Brotherhood of Creation symbol and Mars planetary glyph (alchemical representation of iron) – glowing purple in the middle of it. In matter of seconds the door was nowhere to be found; it became the very part of the wall he was now facing. He swung around again, just when a person standing in front of him lit a candle and held it at the level of his chest, enlightening himself and the adjacent hooded figure.

Both of them took their hoods off, revealing their pale faces covered with short black hair and darkened by two pairs of dark green eyes, just as striking as Williams' natural ones. The hair on their heads was also coal-black and long. There were truly few differences between them, but upon closer inspection, some of their facial attributes – nose and mouth shape, eyebrow density, etc. – differed; one of them was also a little taller. They stood firmly, awaiting Williams' reaction while their eyes travelled from one part of his body to another, scanning him.

Williams surprisingly laughed slightly in rather feigned disbelief and said confidently, as though he erased his character in one instant: "I wouldn't imagine meeting you two here, Ahmes, Kanefer." The new tone of his voice was also absolutely unalike his former one.

His sentence left the two uninterested, though. They did not move a muscle, save their eyes, which did not cease to hover over Williams' body.

"So, he's been captured, hasn't he? That's how you knew some of us would come back here looking for him; am I right?" He raised his hands to his ribs' level, stretching his fingers, but keeping them united, and lowered his head a little, still smirking contentedly as if he had said the very obvious.

No response came from his dialogue – I should say monologue – partners, but it was not as if he had expected any. Despite the null effect, he continued speaking.

"So, is there anything I can do for you, gentlemen, before you kill me?" he asked sarcastically. When he met with another moment of silence, he added, rather reproachfully: "Oh, c'mon, if these are my last moments, at least say something. You used to be so chatty during the war, _dear brethren_."

The last two words seemed to have finally had some effect, as Kanefer's – the taller one's – cheek twitched in scorn. "We are not… your _brethren_ ," he retorted threateningly.

"Now, that's the spirit!" Williams shouted in totally fake joy. "I must say, though, you must have good contacts in the local government when you were informed so quickly about _his_ whereabouts. You lickspittles are as efficient as always," he remarked to provoke them, albeit with no success, whatsoever.

Ahmes, evidently tired of the conversation already, clapped his palms and turned them – the same way Prior's unsuccessful assassins did. On his right palm glowed the symbol of creation and his left one was marked by the symbol of alchemical separation (Scorpio). He aimed at Williams and purple sparks emitted from his fingers, speeding through the air toward Williams, leaving little fiery explosions behind them. He began to run around the room, hoping to avoid the explosion, but the sparks followed him, regardless of where he tried to hide. He then took a really brief moment to look at the two attackers, just to see that Kanefer united his hands as well. 'Ah, that's that, again,' he told himself, recognizing the technique they had used.

"Well, in that case…" he said aloud and performed the same hand gesture, held his breath and created a sort of air bubble around himself inside which he could not breath for some reason. The purple sparks reached the bubble swiftly, engulfing it entirely. After a few seconds of something what had looked like an energy accumulation a considerably large explosion occurred, having shattered the wall to which Williams was pressed and also a good amount of the staircase next to him. It was not the same explosion as before, nonetheless. Although it was seemingly produced out of air, it was blinding and had residual effects, such as fire or smoke.

Ahmes and Kanefer approached Williams, who was lying on the floor, burns all over his body. He had let out a hoarse 'You bastards,' which could hardly be heard before he writhed in pain for several seconds and ultimately passed out.

"I wish we didn't need his blood," said Kanefer, giving his voice a tone of cruel disappointment.

"I'd have killed him right way, If I could, _the filthy traitor_ ," seconded Ahmes.

The two left the devastated mansion, Kanefer carrying burnt Williams on his back.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: This chapter features some severe physical violence. I hope you won't be offended. I'm sorry about the delay. Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Part 14**

* * *

 _Time went on. Three days have passed since Fullmetal Alchemist's incarceration. Throughout the period, he has been given little nourishment and little rest. His wrists began to ache persistently under the pressure of heavy steel fetters, which kept bounding him to the uneven iron bed, forcing him to shout imprecations at the unalive object every once in a while. His spine hurt badly and he had a strong feeling his shoulder blades had been made flat already. Ankles were not spared the pain, either. Those were tied even more tightly, because Edward's interrogator got the impression the prisoner had been far too insolent with him than tolerable. Ed responded with a volley of curses, some of which neither the soldier nor Ed himself knew had existed. His questions, howbeit, remained unanswered and he seemed to be losing patience little by little. This gradual loss was especially noticeable during lunch times – which were the only time of the day Ed was actually given some food. His interrogator typically brought him a piece of half-moldy bread and fed him while making fun of him in every way he could think of; but the third day he threw it directly at Ed's face leaving him with no option how to assuage his hunger. He also used to intentionally spill glasses of water onto his face, much to his joy, while Ed was desperately taking one gulp after another of his one and only refreshment for an entire day. He also gave up on this practice and had instead poured the water into Ed's mouth rapidly, ignoring his harsh coughing and nigh suffocation, before turning away and smashing the door shut._

 _Needless to mention, Ed was slowly getting desperate. Aid was nowhere on its way and not just his body, but his mind as well were on the verge of breakdown. Although three days might not be habitually considered a long period of time, three days spent in total darkness, – with the only traces of light being sharp, blinding rays that managed to escape from the corridor and illuminate Ed's cell through a narrow slit which formed while the door was opened and closed briefly after by his questioner – when deprived of proper food, with practically no sleep because of rusty metallic fragments penetrating the skin through slightly bleeding, open wounds, while having to answer questions that grow more demanding, but otherwise do remain identical, each successive day, would drive almost anybody insane. Edward could all but thank his abnormally strong will and resolve for maintaining his sanity, at least temporarily. One thing was certain, though: should help not arrive shortly, he_ would _break, eventually._

* * *

 _Army Gen. Kozlov's (officer in charge of Irkutsk HQ) office_

* * *

A loud rhythmical knocking could be heard in Army Gen. Kozlov's office.

"The door's open," remarked Army Gen. indifferently, yet fiercely and swiftly.

In came Ed's interrogator and halted right behind the threshold, saluting, his posture rigid.

"At ease," ordered Kozlov and the officer obeyed immediately, having placed his hands behind his back and spread his feet. "Do speak, Lt. Col.," the general said.

"Just regular report, sir. The prisoner still uncooperative, sir," came the answer.

"Good; you may go." Kozlov allowed him to leave and turned his eyes back to his paperwork. However, when he had not heard the door open or close, he looked before himself again, realizing Lt. Col. had stayed motionless. "Anything else, Lt. Col.?" he asked authoritatively.

"Am I allowed to speak, sir?"

"Yes, speak your mind. What's your problem?"

"The prisoner, sir," Lt. Col. replied.

"What about him?" Army Gen. enquired, rather confused.

"Why do we keep him alive, with all respect, sir?" demanded the interrogator.

"And why shouldn't we? We still don't know who he is or how he did what he did, do we?" asked Kozlov in return.

"Does it even matter, with all respect, sir? The important thing is he killed our men and he must be hanged, sir," replied Lt. Col., quite irritated by Kozlov's insouciant approach.

"There's more in this game than just lives of a few men, Lt. Col. I have my orders and you have yours. I advise you not to stick your nose into this matter, anymore. Your service has always been exemplar; don't let something like this ruin your career, Lt. Col.," stated Kozlov, much to his subordinate's disbelief and disapproval.

"Ehm, sir, I beg your pardon. Are you saying the fifty-three soldiers won't be avenged and the culprit won't be subjected to justice?" asked Lt. Col. in a voice that clearly reflected his doubts about his superior's orders.

To the officer's shock, Kozlov rose abruptly from his chair, hit his desk with both his palms and yelled at him: "That's utter insolence! How dare you question my orders?!

Lt. Col. was taken aback by the sudden outburst, but managed to keep his mind quite clear. He answered swiftly and determinedly: "I daren't, sir."

"Do you think I don't feel the same way about my men's deaths as you do?!"

"No, sir."

"Do you think I'd make you interrogate the prisoner, if it wasn't absolutely necessary to know his identity and abilities?!"

"No, sir."

"Now, do you think you can _finally_ get out of my office and _finally_ find out who the hell is that man?!"

"Yes, sir," responded Lt. Col. to the final question and promptly left the office.

The moment he left, Kozlov returned to his chair and exhaled in relief, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Good act, sir," commented Major Sidorova, the general's secretary who watched the entire dialogue.

"I hate to do this to one of my best men, but the Fullmetal Alchemist mustn't know he'd been compromised. We are to keep him here until the president says otherwise. Also, the Lt. Col. mustn't know he mustn't know, to keep his behavior unsuspicious. He is better off not knowing he's not the real culprit. He'd never accept that the guilty are out of our reach, for now," Kozlov explained and got down to his paperwork, again.

* * *

 _Edward's cell_

* * *

"Make sure no one is too curious, keep everyone away," ordered Lt. Col. to the two soldiers who guarded the cell.

He entered the cell slowly, holding a rather large stone cube with two holes on one side. He laid it on the floor and lit a match from the box he pulled out of his pocket. A small pile of crumpled papers ignited when he threw the match through the lower hole. He repeated the act four times in order to be sure the fire would not die and turned to Edward, whose face was slightly illumined by the firelight.

"My patience is growing thin. So, I decided _this_ would be the day you'll open up," the interrogator remarked and when he was certain Edward's exhausted, dim eyes were following him, he unsheathed a knife and threaded it through the upper hole of the cube. The fire soon engulfed its blade and the metal began to heat up.

The dim, exhausted eyes quickly widened in horror. He knew what was coming – torment. He wriggled furiously, trying to free himself from his fetters, but he only managed to open his wounds again. He soon depleted even the smallest remnants of energy he had had before and descended back to his bed, breathing heavily, but still observing the officer's knife as its blade was slowly turning radiantly yellow.

"You have about fifteen minutes before the metal heats up and you start writhing in agony as I'll burn through your flesh," said the officer as though he were telling Ed tonight's concert programme. "If there's never been a good time to tell me who you are, it certainly _is_ now," he added in the same uninvolved kind of voice.

Edward remained silent, while still watching the knife revolving in the soldier's hand. His mind was shadowed by fear. He was never tortured. He _was_ through a lot of physical pain, but never systematic torment. He doubted he would be able to withstand the pain, although he knew he had to. He had to resist, he had to keep his mouth shut; he simply could not sell Williams, Yolkin and everyone else who had helped him out even if it meant to endure hell itself. But, was he ready for it? His resolve was immensely strong, but strong did not mean unbreakable. Much as he hated to admit it, ideas of surrender had found a way to his mind many times and were getting more powerful with every spin the burning metal had made. What if he just divulged everything he knew and got hanged, ending his own journey once then for all. As he lied on the spiky, iron bed, his entire body aching, fatigued, unable to produce a movement, he grew tired of living, he grew tired of choosing the difficult paths when there were the straight and clear ones right before his eyes. He recalled the discussion he had with Al during their alchemy training, about how insignificant humans are in the entire flow of the universe. What would happen if he died here and now? In fact, nothing. His family and friends would grieve, but time would heal their wounds. Many people would die, but, perhaps he would not be able to save them, either way. The world would go on, his little existence would disappear, but that was about it. In mere one hundred years, nobody would know he had ever actually lived and given up. He would lose his place in this world, yet everything would remain as it was, with or without him. He truly could not change anything, actually, could he? That was what his reason had told him.

However, there were still voices in his head that wanted to fight, that encouraged him to keep going forward. He got angry with them, with his own personality, his own conscience. 'Why can't you just leave me alone? Why can't I just be selfish for once? Why can't I just do what I want with my life? Why do I always have to be responsible for anyone else but myself?' he argued. He knew, though, he would not win. The voices were far stronger than his own. They were stable, firm, not like his fragile and wavering human self. They told him to battle, to battle, yet again, for those who are dear to him, because peace _should_ come and he _should_ rest. Yet, for somewhere to be peace, war was to be fought beforehand. Equivalent Exchange could not be escaped or fooled. 'This is one of the moments, God, when, although you stand against me, you truly are on my side,' he thought, 'thank You.'

He closed his eyes, accepting the torment that was about to come and smiled sincerely, saying in voice hoarse by dehydration: "Heh, try as you might, I won't tell you anything."

The officer was somehow surprised by his reaction, but he smirked and retorted: "You all say that."

Fifteen minutes had passed. The officer took the knife of the furnace. He advanced towards Ed, holding it tightly.

"Last chance, boy, it's either now or later. But I think you should prefer now," Lt. Col. tried to terrify him. He was unsuccessful, though. Edward was already determined, determined to give the officer a hard time.

"I'm not saying anything!" he said as loud as his voice had allowed him and inhaled deeply, preparing for agony.

And it did come. He began to shout his lungs out as the soldier reached his right abdomen and the scorching blade burrowed into his flesh.

"Who are you?!" the soldier shouted.

"I'm not saying!" shouted Ed back, writhing in unspeakable pain.

He felt an enormous relief when the officer took his knife out of his body. Nonetheless, he had only few instants to enjoy the decaying pain as even more violent one passed through his neural system when his torturer pressed the piece of metal to his skin to seal the bleeding laceration with fire. He let out another desperate scream and his limbs thrashed in trauma.

"For the last time, _who are you_?!" the officer now yelled at Ed's face uncontrollably, strengthening the press against his abdomen.

" _Go fuck yourself, you bastard_!" retaliated Ed, drowning the soldier's voice out more than easily.

Ultimately, Lt. Col. freed Ed from his agony. He threw the knife away to the cell's corner and kicked down the stone cube, quenching the fire and releasing smoke with ashes all around. He slammed the door and walked away rapidly, suppressing his fury.

Ed continued twitching on his bed for a little longer, coughing as the smoke entered his mouth and prevented him from breathing freely. Despite the polluted air, bloody wounds around wrists and ankles, deep cut in his midriff, dehydration, malnutrition, darkness and despair he felt rather happy. He felt that he had not failed, that he had endured, that he would be able to face his friends knowing that he had done the right thing. With such hopeful thoughts he passed out, leaving the cell and torment behind himself and out of the world of dreams.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

* * *

 **Part 15**

* * *

'What is this? Where am I? And… _who_ am I?' Edward's eyes travelled down and thoroughly scanned his body. He wore a casual set of clothes – a pure white shirt under a dark green, buttoned waistcoat, cotton trousers of the same color and light brown leather boots. His hair was back to being as golden as ever and his equally golden orbs ended their swirling journey, having caught a glimpse of Ed's palms, which in the meantime reached the level of his sight and remained there, motionlessly. 'These… these are hands, aren't they? Are they mine?' He clenched one of his fists. 'Yes, they are… mine. Mine… me? But, who _is_ me?'

"Hey!" He could hear a high-pitched voice speaking behind him, cutting right through his uncontrolled thoughts. He turned around and faced a small figure sitting in a cross-legged position. There were many peculiar things about the creature that caught Edward's attention immediately. First of all, it was completely white, seemingly with no skin or clothes on. It also had no eyes, just ears and an enormous mouth, which practically covered the entire lower part of its little round head. It grinned widely – literally from ear to ear – through clenched, inhumanly clean teeth, with just one being almost the same size as the ear. When it spake, a chill ran through Ed's body.

"C'mon, don't just stand there, say something. It's been a long time since we saw each other; I expected something like: 'What the hell am I doing here?' or 'I hoped I would never see you again?' C'mon, kid, do something rash, reckless, as you always would. Don't make me think you grew up, because you know very well you haven't matured one bit, or have you… pipsqueak?"

" _What did you just call me?!_ " Edward burst out unconsciously, having pointed his index threateningly at the white head. He was immediately surprised by his own instinctive reaction and, gazing at the whiteness around himself, completely ignored his dialogue partner, who held his stomach and laughed far too loud. The last bit of concentration he had perished. He stood there, pressing his temples, and started to feel depressed and dizzy. There were just too many questions and no answers, whatsoever. He had no idea where he was, how he had gotten there, who he actually was or what was about to happen to him. The situation might have made sense had he remembered at least something, a little fragment of his past, but he did not. He raised his head just to see the white man getting his laughter under control.

"Ah, that was fun. I actually missed you, alchemist," it said coldly, watching Ed firmly.

'Alchemist… did he say "alchemist"?' The word resonated in Ed's head and it seemed somehow familiar, but he had no clue why. He peered at the place on its head one would have expected eyes to be, his mouth wide open.

"Hey, don't pretend you're surprised now, okay? You've been here three times already. Whether you like it or not, you're exceptional so I _really_ can't just let you go and live your ordinary human live, can I?" However, Ed's face did not change at all as whatever had been said throughout the meeting only made him feel even more confused.

"Now, let's play a little game, shall we?" the white person asked and awaited Edward's answer. He, nonetheless, kept goggling at him, unable to let out a vocal. An awkward moment came. The two gazed at each other without a word or a movement, until Ed's conversation partner got tired and sighed.

"All right, fine, no games, then. Just a little riddle, okay?"

Ed nodded, although he had not actually ordered his head to do so.

"Imagine a house, alchemist. A simple house, with windows, doors, roof, walls, etc. Got it?"

Ed nodded again. His brain was far from being capable of imagining anything at the moment, though.

"Now, in that house, there is something you really want, for example… a priceless treasure."

Ed thought that the only priceless thing to him would have been a single clue about what was going on around him.

"I've got a good news for you, though. You've got a key from that door. And every day, just when the owner is gone for a brief moment, you open the door, take only a little bit of it – so that he isn't suspicious – and you're gone, closing the door behind you."

It was not like Ed started to understand anything, but the riddle rather caught his attention.

"Then, one day, you decided you don't need the treasure anymore, that you can live without it, and sold the key for something more important to you. Why, tell me, does that mean you can no longer enter the house?"

"No, it doesn't," replied Ed without actually realizing what he had said.

"You can, for instance, break down the door, right? But…" it left the sentence intentionally unconcluded.

"…it would be against the law," Ed finished, his face now solemn.

"That's correct, alchemist," came the confirmation. "But, I'm afraid our little chat is over. Guess someone's paid you a visit," he added and pointed at a soldier who was slowly approaching Ed. "Remember what I told you about the house, it might actually come in handy one day." Before he could give the last sentence a thought the approaching soldier gave him a punch in the face. He fell down on the white, invisible floor and closed his eyes in pain.

He opened them a second later, but he was no longer on the floor. Instead, his mind was brought back to his smoke-filled cell, his iron bed, his torment. He felt a dull pain in his right cheek, realizing the punch had been real. His torturer lit one match after another, throwing them in the portable oven and, blowing air in the embers, he set up a fire pretty quickly.

"Good you woke up. You've got questions to answer," he remarked, pleased with himself, and with an unnoticeable smirk he pulled out his knife, slowly heating it up.

* * *

 _Another four days have passed – four days of ceaseless torment, demands, threats, screams and violence on one side and suffering, denials, pain and delirium on the other. Even someone of as resolute a nature as Edward surrendered in the wake of the conditions. He did not long for a rescue anymore. He accepted death in that cell, he accepted he would not go anywhere else thence, he accepted his bed as his coffin, his fetters as his funeral wreath, his torturer as his priest. There was nothing else to be said or done for him in this world, just to endure the pain, not to give away sensitive data, data, on which lives depended. Despite presumptions, it was not a truly hard task to perform. His neural system slowly gave way and, thus, his body was gradually becoming insensitive to physical pain. His mind oscillated between states of delirium and faint, there were hardly any moments when he could be considered truly awake and aware. His hallucinations blended with his dreams, veiling the reality with an opaque curtain. Not few times did he see himself fighting Scar, transmuting his mother or sparing with Alphonse. Most of the dreams, however, took place in his current home, with Winry and Maes. He dreamt about the peaceful times the three had spent together before his journey began, the journey that he now thought his ultimate. Tears poured down his face and an intense desire to live overwhelmed him every time he recalled their smiling, merry faces. Yet, tears soon vanished, as did all the fugacious merriness and peace when the devilish fiery blade literary burnt the reality into him._

* * *

 _Army Gen. Kozlov's office_

* * *

"I'll hear your report, Lt. Col.," said Kozlov, his voice as neutral as ever, almost ignorant. However, there came no answer from Ed's tormentor's mouth. Kozlov lifted his head together with one of his eyebrows in a suspicious, questioning look. "Well, what did you find out?" he asked ironically as though he had already anticipated the answer.

"Nothing, sir," replied a voice unmistakably full of anger and self-disdain.

"Is that so?" Kozlov refused to end the dialogue, much to the discomfort of the questioned.

"Yes, sir, he's… he's… _exceptional_ ," he filled the last word with as much scorn as verbally possible.

"Is he?" the general continued demanding.

"Yes, sir. But I'll break him, sir," Lt. Col. stated decisively.

"No, that you won't," Kozlov answered, utterly surprising his subordinate.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"You heard me well. You're no longer in charge of this case, someone will take over."

"But, sir…" Kozlov raised his hand to halt the speech. Then he declared: "The last week has taken its toll on you, Lt. Col. You engaged too many personal feelings in this case. Your judgement is shadowed and your methods poor. You can't even control yourself anymore." He pointed at Lt. Col. fist, clenched and trembling.

When he made sure there would be no objections or bursts from the officer's side, he cleared his throat and added: "Moreover, you're relieved from your duties as a soldier until the case is closed. You may go, now."

"Sir," Lt. Col. said his last word and left the office peacefully, his eyes, however, showed the contrary.

Another soldier in her twenties entered the office a minute after Lt. Col. had left.

"Sir," she said and saluted.

"Yes, Sergeant, what is it?"

"This order just came directly from the president's office, sir," she replied and handed over an envelope.

"Thank you, Sgt., leave now," Kozlov ordered. He opened the envelope slowly and found a folded sheet of paper inside. Having unfolded it carefully, he read: "Army General Yevdokim Tikhonovich Kozlov, you currently hold the Fullmetal Alchemist prisoner. I received intelligence that his brother, of the name Alphonse Elric, crossed our borders from Xing and is in search for the prisoner. He should soon be arriving at the village named Astrakhan. You are to make sure that he is given determinant clues about the Fullmetal Alchemist's location and that he is allowed to reach him and escape with him in a manner that would keep him entirely unsuspicious. The mission must be carried out flawlessly. Should there arise complications they shall have significant consequences regarding not only yours and your soldier's lives, but also the future of the entire country. Furthermore, any data related to the Fullmetal Alchemist (or Alphonse Elric) is hereby marked as military top classified and does therefore require special privileges to access.

* * *

 _President Kuryavov's residence, 4 hours ago_

* * *

All civilians that have or will come into contact with the data or with the subjects personally are to sign a non-disclosure agreement. I wish You the best of luck. Signed Milan Nikitovich Kuryavov, the president of The Federation of Autonomous Provinces of Drachma."

"All right, that should do," said Kuryavov aloud, although there was no one else present in his office. He stamped the letter and folded it carefully into thirds. Having enclosed it in an envelope, he grabbed the phone handle of one of the five phones that lied on his desk. A voice came out of it almost immediately: "Yes, sir?"

"Come to my office. You are to deliver an order to the central headquarters," commanded Kuryavov.

He handed the envelope to the officer he had summoned and sent him away immediately. He then leant back in his armchair and began to wonder. Was it a good choice not to provide any explanation to his orders? He thought it was. The fewer people knew about what was happening in the country, the better. It was not even his orders to begin with, they were Prior's. He knew that the Drachman king had signed a deal with the Brotherhood of Creation a long time ago. The sheet of papyrus was hidden in an underground safe directly underneath his very residence. It said that in exchange for philosopher's stones containing exactly thirteen million souls, the Brotherhood would ensure Drachma's supremacy over the rest of nations in the new world they should create. The time needed for the completion of the stones was estimated to roughly two millennia. The Brotherhood was to sleep before the time came. However, the time did come, but the stones were not ready. That happened because one government, that ruled in the past century, decided to break the deal and spare the lives of its criminals, which were regularly used as the resource for the refinement. A revolution took place and the current government, with Kuryavov in its head, was established. Before long, Kuryavov resumed and sped up the production out of fear what would happen if the Brotherhood woke up, but the stones were incomplete. Nonetheless, despite his measures, he was still short of half a million souls when the Brotherhood returned. As a result, many innocent people living near the production facilities were accused of crimes they had not committed and sentenced to death without proper trial in order to make up for the delay. Kuryavov's conscience troubled him because of it, but he managed to convince himself that had he not obeyed Prior's orders, the implications would have been much severer and he would not have saved the citizens, anyway. Sometimes, there remain only bad options to choose from.

The production was not the only issue that bothered his mind, though. He was desperately thinking of a connection between a famous Amestrian alchemist and the Brotherhood, apart from the obvious – alchemy. In the truly few conversations he had with the Prior and in the letters with orders he received from him he always referred to the Fullmetal Alchemist as the 'predestined one'. What that could mean, he could only guess. However, he made up his mind to uncover the secrets behind the connection; that was the least he could do prepare himself and the country for the Prior's plans. He also aimed to analyze as much as he was capable of the powers of the Brotherhood, powers that were forfeited and forgotten throughout the millennia. He was still astonished how quickly the Brotherhood knew about Alphonse's presence, almost an entire day before his own information service. They also provided his identity, something that would take his people much more time to discover. He had no idea what techniques they used, but he was going to find out; he would use all his means and resources to learn the unbeknown.

* * *

 _The village of Astrakhan_

* * *

As the letter stated, Alphonse Elric arrived late that night at the village of Astrakhan, in northeastern Drachma. Exhausted after his journey through unhospitable and wild nature of Drachman mountain passes he concealed his true identity by using a fake name – previously devised for that very purpose – of Yaroslav Chupov and managed to gain a shelter in one of the local families' house. The possessors of the domicile, an elderly man with his wife, were kind to him, even refusing to take money for the lodging – Alphonse had, of course, taken enough Drachman grivnas along for situations like these. Out of respect and gratitude, he joined them during their dinner, but his eyelids became far too heavy for him to keep them opened and his dreams far too sweet for his mind to prevent them from cloaking the reality. Light soon turned dark and Al's head added another course to his unfinished meal when he fell asleep and the plate ended up to be his pillow after a loud thud. The landlords gently moved him to his bed and covered him with a blanket. They gave him a smile when closing the door and seeing him lying there, so young and innocent he appeared to them.

Al had a tranquil night. He slept over eleven hours. When he woke up, he was angry with himself due to how much time he had lost. Having packed all his things in less than a minute, he stormed out of his room just to find the retired pair sitting around the table and having their morning tea. Their calm and restful appearance, however, soothed his nerves drastically.

"Why don't you have a tea with us, dear?" the lady addressed him.

"No, thank you, I really need to go," answered Al truthfully.

"Oh, and why are you in such a hurry?"

'I can't really say I'm here for my brother, the famous Fullmetal Alchemist, who happened to have infiltrated your country to save the citizens and is now god knows where,' thought Al. "Ehm, I've got a really important meeting," he devised a somewhat cliché kind of excuse.

"Why, do you happen to be a businessman, boy? You truly do look like one," the old man asked in kind voice.

"Ah, no, no, nothing like that. I'm just a… merchant. Yeah, a travelling merchant," Al responded, laughing in an awkward and jerky manner whilst rubbing the back of his head.

"A merchant? And what do you sell?" the senior went on asking, not quite realizing what sort of uncomfortable position he was driving Al into.

Al knew this conversation must not advance further. He was to stop it now. "Eh, all kinds of goods… Anyway, thanks for the meal and the overnight. Are you sure you don't need the money?"

"Oh, that was nothing, dear. Don't go wasting your money on a hag and a geezer like us," she replied and laughed slightly.

"Don't say things like that. You still have a long way to go," said Al in response and, trying to combine smile and concern into one expression, he ended up looking perplexingly and perplexed. He left the house afterwards, waving his hand in farewell as he walked away.

He strolled around the village while having no clues as to where to start the search for his elder brother and he could only admire how peaceful a place it was, hidden deep within the mountains, surrounded by forests, out of the civilization's reach. It almost looked like Resembool, but, perhaps this village… was hidden even deeper.

In less than twenty minutes' time, he overheard two men talking eagerly in front of a small lake. Not being aware of why, he approached them curiously, might be since their conversation was the only disturbing element around.

"C'mon, man, you believe everything you read, don't you?" remarked one of them provocatively.

"I'm telling you, it's all over the news; that's not just something some 'clever' guy made up!" the second one retorted, hitting the newspaper with his hand while showing it to the first.

"What do we have here, then?" he whispered in rather fake curiosity and began to read the title aloud: "Famous alchemist arrested in central headquarters."

The man unknowingly gained Al's complete attention with that one sentence.

"That's nonsense, man. What would an alchemist be doing in Drachma? Don't be always so damn naïve. It's just another false story."

Alphonse was so excited he could not hide it no matter how much effort he put into calming down. He ran toward the pair and a question burst from him: "Did you say 'a famous alchemist'?!"

"Hey, hey, relax. What's got into you?" was the addressed man's reaction to Al's abrupt appearance and quick breathing.

"It's nothing." Al waved his hands nervously. "Now, answer me, please. Did you say a famous alchemist had been arrested?" he went on demanding.

"Yeah, here, read the newspapers."

Al's eyes widened in a mix of delight and worry. He was happy he had found a clue about Ed's whereabouts – he somewhat rightfully doubted there was another famous alchemist who had infiltrated Drachma in the same time as his brother. On the other hand, the image of incarcerated – and most likely suffering – Ed brought nothing but anxiety to his mind and strengthened his urge to get to him as early as he could. He returned the newspapers to the man and asked promptly: "How do I get to Irkutsk?"

"Eh? Why would you even go there? This article is just a fake; don't you see?" the skeptical one responded.

"Please, just do me a favor, tell me how I can get there."

"Pff," he sighed. "Fine, I'll tell you," he said and smirked when he saw Al's face full of childish zeal. "There is a city about ten miles from here. It's called Solnechnogorsk. There you can board a train or hire a car, if you drive. Just follow this forest track," he pointed at a nearby forest where a narrow passage between trees could be seen, "and you'll get straight there."

"Great, thanks!" said Al and shook both men's hands a little too heartily.

In a couple of seconds, he was already nearing the forest. He could hear a distant 'That's the last time you trusted the journalists, ha ha.' before disappearing amongst the shadows.

When it was clear he was gone and on his way to Irkutsk, one of the men spoke: "Go, inform the boss that he fell for it."

The other nodded swiftly and set off as well.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

 **Note: My dear readers, I'm sorry I took so long. My time truly is restricted, but believe me, I'm trying. In my native language, we say: "Patience brings** **roses." I hope you like them.**

* * *

 **Part 16**

* * *

 _The forest path was longer than Al had expected. After nearly an hour of continuous trotting he still did not reach the end and fatigue soon fell upon him. Once human again, he knew he could not escape the limitations of his body. Yet, there were times since he had regained it – no matter how much he tried to convince himself of the contrary – when he truly wished for metal limbs and boundless endurance, times when he was afraid of human weakness. For the sake of those close to him, could he truly afford to be human? 'No,' he said to himself, successfully discarding his previous thoughts, 'everyone was glad when we got our bodies back and brother even sacrificed his alchemy to that end. I was given something I myself hadn't paid for. That's unfair in itself. I mustn't dare deny it. That'd be unforgivable…' Soon after having set his mind right, Al collapsed on a stump and panted, wiping away sweat from his forehead. He used this brief moment of rest to examine his surroundings, for he had a strong, though purely intuitive, sensation he was being stalked. He was turning his head from side to side, noticing each and every rustle of the bushes around, but nothing out of ordinary caught his attention. After quite a few minutes of attentive inspection he acknowledged he had idled enough and was on his feet in an instant. He was still too exhausted to run, but his walk pace remained brisk._

* * *

 _The town of Solnechnogorsk_

* * *

Within 2 hours, Alphonse arrived in Solnechnogorsk. With the help of a couple of locals he promptly located the train station and having bought a ticket to Irkutsk he waited for the train that should leave in thirty minutes' time. He considered hiring a car and a driver, – he could not drive himself – but he wanted to make certain he was not pursued before setting for Irkutsk. A railway platform offered a convenient set of conditions for him to lure out the possible stalker, since they needed to get on the same car as Al if they were to keep an eye on him. Alphonse still doubted the rationality of his obsession, but time and experience taught him to trust his instincts, even if his mind told him otherwise. He leant against a wall on the border of the platform so as to cover the broadest area possible with his eyesight. As vigilant as ever, he scanned every person present, searching for even the slightest trace of suspicious behavior. To his luck, Solnechnogorsk could hardly be called a large town, thus the number of people was considerably low – at least compared to Central train station. He also thought about deliberately boarding a different train in the last minute in order to make the pursuer panic and eventually reveal themselves. Ultimately, nonetheless, he decided not to for time was all but on his side and it was all a mere surmise, after all.

Twenty-five minutes had passed, but Al's suspicion was neither verified nor falsified. The hands of the large clock attached to the round stone column in the center of the platform slowly approached Roman eleven when an 'over-suspicious' man passed the platform barrier. He held a folder with Drachman flag on it reading 'CLASSIFIED'. His coat streamed a little as he walked, unveiling a pistol on his hip, and he partially covered his face with a tip of a large black hat. 'This is just too obvious,' Al thought, 'it's as though he were telling me to focus on him. He almost looks like he wants to appear suspicious. He must be a bait or something…' Al's sense of paranoia grew stronger each second now. He furiously thought about the true nature of the man that had just come into his sight while still surveying the platform. 'That's definitely not the stalker. If they think I'll fall for such a cheap trick, they underestimate me.'

Mere twenty seconds before the train was scheduled to leave, another man, just as suspicious as the supposed bait, appeared at the end of the platform and halted a few meters before the train which had already reached the station. Meanwhile, the man who first caught Al's attention was already getting on one of the cars. This allowed Al to focus entirely on the second one. 'Why isn't he moving? Is it that he's waiting for me to board first?' Al's mind was brought into chaos. He had no idea what to think or do at the moment and, to top it all, the train was about to leave in ten seconds. A slow, loud tick-tock resonated in his head as his eyes kept observing his prey. He knew he had to act. He was out of time and he could not risk being followed. Even if it all were just a fiction his uncertainty gave birth to, there was no other way but to act accordingly. He had only five seconds left until the train's departure. He clapped his hands, swiftly approached the man and, having grabbed him by the throat, hauled him around a corner so as to hide him from sight. He then pressed him to the wall and touched the stone surface. Blue sparks appeared and many small hands emerged from the wall tying the suspect tightly. Al had also sealed his mouth to prevent him from screaming before running away and jumping on the last car while the train was already accelerating. He gave one last gaze to the wall behind which he was and felt a little anxious about the possibility that he had attacked an innocent man, but, after all, it had been his only option, he weened. When he sat down and put his coat off, he did his best to recall which car was his first suspect in – he was actually in the third of four cars, whilst Al sat in the fourth. Having looked around and not having spotted the person, he reassured himself of the fact and rested upon a seat, believing he thwarted the pursuit.

Wrong, that he was. The bait, who sat in the third car, pulled a radio out of his coat and, having tuned it to the right frequency, he said to it: "Everything according to plan, sir. He should be arriving at the scheduled time. No, sir. I dare say he doesn't," and turned it off. After the device had been put back in its rightful place, a contemptuous sneer enriched the officer's face (otherwise somewhat monotonous) when he recalled the plan Kozlov had invented to confuse Al and how well it actually went. 'A good strategist, this Kozlov,' he thought, 'regarding how little information he had about the guy, he had foreseen his behavior flawlessly…'

* * *

 _Army Gen. Kozlov's office, 4 hours ago_

* * *

"When do you expect him to reach Solnechnogorsk?" Kozlov asked.

"Not sure, sir. If he keeps this pace, he should be there in about two and a half hours," answered the officer who was obliged to report Al's whereabouts.

"Good. Now, listen; judging from the data we have on him, he's quite perceptive and highly intelligent. However, there's one factor that plays fully into our hands."

"That is, sir?"

"Time, soldier, time. From how he hurriedly he behaves I deduced he wants to lose as little time as possible. He's bound to head for Irkutsk so soon as he arrives in Solnechnogorsk. Make sure he notices you following him."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"You heard me right. He must know somebody's after him. This way, he won't risk hiring a car and will board a train instead, where it's much easier for him to identify and get rid of possible pursuers. Solnechonogorsk is a small town, thus, the interval between departures should be 2 hours at the minimum. Study the schedule and deduce which one he'll take."

"Understood, sir. What should we do once we know that much?"

"You'll need three soldiers to make the plan work. I leave their choice in your hands. Contact them and assemble somewhere near the station thirty minutes before the departure."

"Yes, sir. And the plan, sir?"

"Two of you will wear analogous set of clothes, a gun, which will be visible upon closer look, and a fake folder, which must appear to be related to Drachman military in any way you find appropriate. It's essential that both of you look highly suspicious. One of you is to enter the platform three minutes before the train leaves. This way, the subject will have enough time to find out that he's actually a bait. Then, the second bait arrives at the very end of platform mere twenty seconds before the scheduled time. This should confuse the subject greatly. The first bait then gets on the train, allowing him to focus on the second bait solely. No matter how intelligent he is, each's mind struggles under the pressure of time. He won't be able to analyze the situation properly and will resort to impetuous countermeasures. Should the second bait not board the train, he'll certainly think he waits for him to board and take action. He's probably going to restrain him from following him by any means he has. If my calculations are correct, he'll be forced to board the train already set in motion and thus will get on the last car, which will be the only one accessible to him."

"Why the last, sir?"

"Because the first bait will get on the one before the last, making him to choose the closest one to him due to lack of time. That's why it's crucial for the second bait to occupy the end of the station, ensuring he'll have no time to get on any other car after impeding him."

"And the third one? What about him, sir?"

"The third one? Isn't it clear, soldier? The third one'll get on the last car at the previous station. He'll wear casual clothes of his own choosing, but he mustn't look suspicious or anywhere near that. That's all. Is everything clear, soldier?"

"Yes, sir. We'll carry out the plan to the letter, sir."

"Good. Report the results immediately after," Kozlov added and ended the conversation.

* * *

 _Solnechonogorsk-Irkutsk train, last car_

* * *

Al had fairly little idea he was still being watched. The memories of the events before his boarding swirled in his mind and he could not help going through them again and again. On one hand he wanted to believe this whole 'pursuit' idea existed solely within the boundaries of his imagination, yet, on the other extremity, it was far too difficult to believe that an appearance of two identical – and equally suspicious – men on the same platform he had been standing on had been just your everyday coincidence. Normal, that it was not. Even if he accepted the idea of having been exposed, there were still too many unanswered questions flying around. First of all, how could anybody have identified him so quickly? And if they had, why had they not simply apprehended and imprisoned him like Ed? He began to suppose that everything he had done thus far was clutching at straws. He did not even know if Ed was the imprisoned alchemist; speaking whereof, how could he be sure there _was_ any imprisoned alchemist to begin with? He did not know whether he was being watched or not; he did not know if the train he had boarded would take him to Irkutsk; and did Irkutsk even exist? The more he thought about his situation, the stronger grew his feeling of unknowingly taking part in some stupid game, a game he knew naught about. This feeling corroded him from within; this was the first time in his life he was completely blind, deprived of data, which were always crucial to his decisions. It was the first time he had no choice but to repress his own mind and let vague hunches and inklings determine the path.

He would habitually reproach Ed for his impulsive behavior, putting him in contrast with his own typically calm and thoughtful approach. But now, when there were barely any possible schemes to elaborate and compare, he wished he were more like his brother, more decisive, more reckless.

The train left the town and Al's eyes mirrored a gorgeous landscape. Colorful forests conveyed autumn's clear supremacy and lost leaves danced in the wind, saying their last farewell before becoming part of the very earth. Colossal rocky mountains with tips covered in pure white veil towered over aging trees, casting shadow on the sun itself. One would admire such scenery, but Al only saw himself in it – shadowed, flittering in the wind, trying to achieve something only to fall back to the ground. On his way to his brother he was, unable to expect anything - his mind troubled, but goal clear.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters which appear in Hiromu Arakawa's manga series Fullmetal Alchemist.**

* * *

 **Part 17**

* * *

 _Alphonse went through an uneasy journey. Ever since his boarding he was burdened with unending pain. Vivid images of his brother jailed, bereft of freedom, troubled and of his own powerlessness and failure left his body whole, but mind scourged and heart aching. He did not understand his thoughts in the slightest. It was well possible Ed was safe and unharmed, striving to help wherever he could, while inadvertently quenching the omnipresent desire for knowledge, just as he always does. Yet, deep inside him, there whispered a voice, an adamant voice that did not give him a single instant of peace. Al was never this bewildered in his entire life. The struggles between reason and intuition whereby he had been hardly ever struck now corrupted his thinking, making him almost incapable of doing anything else but swaying from side to side while as far from finally clinging to either as one could be. This level of indecisiveness drove him frustrated and afraid. Despite how confident he used to be mere few days ago, at the start of his journey, he could not avoid secretly, subconsciously, begging for somebody's help. He desperately hoped there would arise some benign soul, showing him the right path to take. That truly was his wish at the moment. His mind, though, kept relentlessly persuading him of it being actually impossible and of his need to discard useless thoughts. Without having anticipated anything, Al soon found himself completely doubting every last inch of his own being. He questioned the reasons for and even more the necessity of the journey he had undertaken; he questioned the actions he had committed – from having given in to instinct and prejudice to having laid a hand on a person which might not be his enemy at all; he questioned the outcome of whatever he was going to do henceforth. Might be that his doings would not only be of no benefit, they might even endanger the very person he had come here to rescue. Did he even once thought about what would happen if he were imprisoned and interrogated? He did not, because he was certain he would not break under any pressure should his brother's safety be at stake. But, he was not certain about anything anymore. Was he truly so miserable when it came to making decisions? Was he truly so dependent on his brother when things got to the point of no certainty whatsoever? Was his judgement bound to be wrong in such cases? He wanted to believe not. Nevertheless, his own mind's indicators were contradictory. Subconsciously, he made this journey his test, test that he was capable enough to decide and progress on his own, without his energetic, impulsive, often domineering older brother. Why, was he?_

* * *

 _Main railway station – Irkutsk_

* * *

After whole 6 hours of somehow sorrowful trip, Al set his foot on Irkutsk railway station platform. He was relieved to have finally alighted, but very well knew this was no end to his journey, or doubts. The hardest of tasks may lie right here, in the capital city of Drachma, where – he did his best to believe so – his brother needed and deep inside awaited his arrival, his aid. He did not think he was being followed anymore, but for absolute ascertainment he had patiently waited until every last one of the passengers left the platform. He walked behind the ultimate individuals cautiously, but not quite unnaturally. The moment he was outside the station, he immediately broke into a trot and began searching for any traces of military headquarters. After a brief while, though, he found it best to ask just about anyone around. Irkutsk was, after all, a city supposedly at least five times larger than Central, thus, his chances of encountering the headquarters by mere running around were definitely minimal.

"Excuse me, madam…" was how he addressed the first passer-by (out of about a thousand) he had had the luck to run into.

"Yes, youngster?" came the reply, rather harsh and apparently not trying to hide any signs of utter unwillingness.

"I was wondering if could tell me where the military headquarters is?" asked Al as politely as he managed to force himself to, regarding the wrinkled, arrogant and over-made-up face he had to gaze upon.

"No, that I certainly cannot!" she burst out unexpectedly, provoking bewilderment in Al. Two seconds later, after avoiding eye contact with him, she snorted and went on: "Now be gone and don't pester me anymore. If I'd known you were with _them_ , I would've never talked to you in the first place. Humph." She walked away without another word, determined to acknowledge Al's presence no more.

Her aggressive reaction left Alphonse momentarily speechless. He tried to relive the extremely short conversation over and over, looking for a reason behind the woman's behavior. Was it something he said? Or was she just this rude to everyone? Nonetheless, before he had managed to come up with any kind of conclusion, he rightfully forsook the matter with a 'none of my business' state of mind.

That turned out not to be a smart decision, after all. No matter whom he asked, they always responded virulently, foiling any and every attempt for contact, or did not respond at all, playing the ignorant. After more than twenty minutes of continuous begging for answers and not receiving a single one he began to feel impatient and annoyed. To his luck, a man dressed in muddy, tattered clothes, with face covered in greying hair – most likely full of lice – who had been watching him jumping from one person to another the entire time approached him slowly and tapped him on the back.

"Yes?" muttered Al while turning around to face his new acquaintance.

"Ya wanna knah, where the age-cue is, aye?" he inquired, showing his yellow teeth (the ones that were not missing).

Al's eyes shone with excitement. His irritation was gone in a second and he concentrated solely on the person before him, believing he might actually help him and shed some light on the situation as he seemed to have his experience with street life and the city inhabitants. Before he knew it, the man was gesturing him to hide behind a corner, obviously taking Al's facial expression as a valid answer for his question.

"C'mere, boy, c'mere," he whispered at him when he saw Al did not move an inch.

Al followed without objection and soon found himself alone with his supposed advisor, hiding in a narrow, dark passage between two ramshackle high-tier buildings.

"Nah, boy, mind sparin' this old fart a penny or two?" he grinned and Al subconsciously started counting holes. He pulled a few coins out of his trousers' pocket and laid them on the stretched palm.

One could see the old man's satisfaction as he quickly hid them in his left shoe. He looked back at Alphonse and started: "The age-cue is 'bout four miles 'way from here, boy," he said and sat back against the wall and closed his eyes as though he were about to sleep.

"Wait, that's all you're gonna tell me?!" demanded Al with an unbelieving look on his face.

His navigator started snoring, pretending he had not heard anything.

"At least tell me the direction," Al continued.

The snorting suddenly stopped and soon both pairs of eyes met again.

"Hey, it's ya 'gain? Whaddya want nah?" he asked, making himself sound annoyed as though he had just been woken up from the deepest of sleeps. His mouth, however, formed a contemptuous smirk, which Al immediately noticed, but ignored for the sake of gaining the piece of information.

"Ehm, ehm," Al cleared his throat, "I asked for the direction to the headquarters… _sir_."

"Aye, aye. It's this way," he said and indicated a way with his right index.

"Thanks," said Al and although he knew 'this way' was not the best indicator in the world, he wanted to set off already. Hence, he turned his back to the old man and made a few steps toward the end of the passage.

"Hey, hang on, will ya!" the man shouted to Al, who was slowly getting irritated.

"What is it now?" he sighed.

"It's actually this way… mayhaps… hehe," he tried to imitate the most innocent of laughs, but ended up achieving the contrary, while indicating the opposite direction. "I'm gettin' ald, ya know… can't really remember anything this days," he added and threw a you-know-what-I-mean look at Al followed by a raised eyebrow.

The annoyance Al felt rose to another level when he forced himself to turn about again. Much as he hated to have to play along, he conceded it was by far his best option at the time.

"Any idea about what might make your memory clearer?" he said, deliberately putting on the most feigned smile he could image.

"You knah, boy, fahn' aht shiny stuff makes me remember a liddle." The smirk widened.

Al, having wholly expected an answer of this sort, was already holding a couple of coins in his hand. He let one fall on the ground before his rather discourteous well of wisdom.

"Nay, nay, no luck here. Too dark, ain't shinin' at all, eh. That's real bad, can't tell ya nothin' like that."

Alphonse did not react to the remark. He simply stared at the hairy face, leaving his eyes in charge of the communication part. He knew it was just a matter of time before the old man answers him. Until then, his only option was to remain calm and patient. Easier said than done, that it was; especially when he was aware of the approaching sunset and, thus, the necessity to hasten his progress. Somewhat luckily, the man did not take long to speak again.

"But, hey, reckon some clinkin' might help, too," was what he had said while yet again – and even less successfully – imitating a scary kind of innocent laugh.

Al did not hesitate for a single moment and handed him another coin. This time, a kind of solo concert took place. Poorly arrhythmic jingling accompanied by utterly childish – and completely fake – expression of joy on the hirsute cheeks played on Al's nerves more than he wanted to admit and he was getting weary of being constantly made fun of. He could just barely suppress the idea of showing the puppet-master what happens when one of the puppets severs its strings. However, he correctly thought harming the man would serve nothing whatsoever. On the other hand, the number of dissonant sounds his tympanic membrane would yet manage to survive unscathed was dangerously reaching null.

"Cut it out, already!" he shouted finally.

The jingling truly stopped and Al had a somewhat hyperbolized feeling his soul had just been saved. He loudly sighed in relief and laid eyes on the sitting figure once again.

"Well, had enough fun already?" he impelled the man to end the play-act.

"That way," he answered and indicated the same direction he had the first time.

"Are you gonna fool me again?" Al continued putting pressure and clenched his right first tightly – with no inclination for violence, but wishing to get across that he thought he had been tolerant enough.

"Won' miss it. Big as fuck, this age-cue is."

"Tell me one last thing," Al wanted to use up this scarce while of readiness, "why are so many people here hostile to the military?"

"Weird things happened," answered the queried briskly.

"What do you mean by 'weird things'?"

"Said 'nuff. Be glad ya ain't got no idea. Just get the fuck out already."

Al was taken aback by the sudden aggression. He presumed the man would try to extort more money from him. 'Weird guy,' he thought, but did not give this matter any more thought and was promptly headed for the headquarters – or at least for the indicated place wherein he hoped and was afraid his brother was.

* * *

 _Dr. Yolkin's mansion_

* * *

'So, he was captured, after all,' said Yolkin to himself when he entered his mansion, practically reduced to ruins. He walked through the rubble and every once in a while lifted a stone fragment, examining it thoroughly. After a few such examinations he sat on the remnants of the staircase, a small piece of stone still in his hand, and thoughtfully rubbed his hairless chin. "Hmm, extremely high temperatures," he said aloud, accidentally – his eyes motionlessly observing the scorched rock – whereupon he threw it away, but continued gazing at no specified point whilst constructing theories in his head. His main concern naturally was the Brotherhood of Creation and how Williams fit into their plan. The answer, though, was bound to remain hidden due to extreme lack of information about not only their whereabouts, but their actions as well. The reason he returned to his mansion was a rendezvous with his brethren who were likely to cast a little light on the mentioned. He was regularly checking his pocket watch, one would say out of nervousness, but that was not the case. It was just a habit of his, a lifelong habit of being as punctual as a clock.

And indeed, just as his watch showed eight of the clock, an electric crackle could be heard while a great amount of blue sparks illumined the already quite darkened land. Two men in glossy black suits entered through demolished main door.

"Oh, Buneb, Nefermaat, welcome, I should've offered you a drink, but it seems my fridge suffered the same fate as the rest of the mansion," commented Yolkin and smiled gently.

"What happened here?" asked the one addressed as Nefermaat.

"Semerkhet was captured by the stray," Yolkin answered indifferently.

"Is it certain?"

"I'm afraid yes. This mansion, constructed from the most durable materials we were able to develop, supposedly durable enough to withstand any external force destroyed to such extent… I can't imagine anyone else could've done this."

He then stepped over to where he had tossed the stone a while ago, picked it up again and showed it to his brothers in faith and asked: "What do you think?"

"Extreme temperatures," answered Buneb. Nefermaat just nodded.

"Right you are, I thought so, too," added Yolkin. "And, thus, there's only one way to achieve this without having left any trace…"

"The technique of successive nuclear fission," Nefermaat finished the sentence.

"Exactly," confirmed Yolkin.

"There's no doubt about it then. What do they need him for, though?"

"That is what I don't know. I had slight hopes any data you had collected would help clarify the issue to some extent," said Yolkin, expressing a fair amount of disappointment.

"Unfortunately, we were only hardly able to get through on account of all the countermeasures put in place to keep us away," explained Nefermaat.

"However, we were still able to obtain two pivotal pieces of information," Buneb added.

"And those are?" Yolkin asked a little rudely, reflecting his disbelief that he had to raise such question in the first place if the information was so 'pivotal'.

"Firstly, a large number of the city inhabitants was accused of various crimes and officially sentenced to death by hanging without proper trial."

"They're running out of resources…" mumbled Yolkin.

"Secondly, and most importantly, we've confirmed that the chosen one's brother, by the name of Alphonse Elric, has reached the city of Irkutsk and is currently on his way to the military headquarters to rescue his brother who is held prisoner therein," Buneb ultimately added.

For the first time in probably many years, Yolkin's facial muscles twitched in negligible, but unfeigned anger.

"Why haven't I been informed before?" he increased his standard voice volume by mere half a decibel, which in his case, though, was enough to make his brethren feel uneasy.

"Forgive us, Prior, we have to be doubly cautious when passing through the city so as to leave as little traces of our presence as possible," Nefermaat defended their actions.

"Oh, it's no matter now, anyway. The Fullmetal Alchemist, nonetheless, must by no means leave Drachma, at least not before he deciphers the sacred documents," said Yolkin, in his casual voice anew.

"What shall we do now, then? We have no way to get to him or hinder his brother unseen," explained Buneb.

"That leaves us only one option, then. The stray are occupied with resurrection preparations, their forces in the city are likely to be small. Also, if what you said about citizens being unjustly executed is certain, then should we openly oppose the military, they'll join our side without much thought," stated Yolkin firmly.

"Prior, whatever your orders, we shall comply without question, you know that," Nefermaat assured Yolkin.

"I do, my brethren, thank you." He put his hand on each of his brethren's shoulder. "My orders, thus, are the following: contact all our brethren, make them arrive at this mansion immediately. Within two hours' time we shall take the headquarters by storm."


End file.
